


This Feeling of Fakin' It

by Pigeonsplotinsecrecy



Series: This Feeling of Fakin' It [1]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: (it's mild), (mostly), (not Mac), Abandonment Issues, Angst, Anxiety, Body Image, Bulimia, Caffeine, Canon Compliant, Eating Disorders, Fasting, Food Issues, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of sexual violence, Obsessive Behavior, Purging, Recovery, Sexual Harassment, Suicidal Themes, Suicidal Thoughts, Team as Family, Therapy, fat phobic talk because of an eating disorder, mac has a lot of distorted and critical thoughts, residential treatment, self hate, treatment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2019-11-24 22:06:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 110,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18170438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy/pseuds/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy
Summary: Mac's only just begun to rebuild his relationship with his father, and when he finds out about James' cancer diagnosis, he can't stand the thought of losing another family member. Mac is determined to do whatever he can to cure his dad, but no matter how hard he tries, he cannot come up with a solution. For once, his brain, household objects, and a Swiss Army knife can't fix the things failing in his life. As he spirals into obsession, Mac begins to neglect his mental health and without him even knowing it, Mac begins to self-destruct.





	1. Nightswimming

**Author's Note:**

> Please if you have any triggers, look at the tags and make sure that this isn't something that's going to hurt you. It's going to get pretty graphic at times, but this chapter is pretty tame. Stay safe! 
> 
> Chapter titles are all songs!

**Mac’s House: Later than anyone should be awake**

After a grueling trip to Kyrgyzstan, which had required Angus MacGyver to save himself with a box of bow-tie pasta and alfredo sauce (two things he couldn’t figure out how to make edible but could, nevertheless, make into a highly explosive device), Mac was dead on his feet, but nevertheless, he stayed up under dim lights to complete his new side hustle. He was singlehandedly going to cure cancer. Well, him and the stacks of research piled in his living room, which were nearly the size of people. Sleep beckoned him, but his big brain refused to shut off. There were too many things he had to do before he’d allow himself to rest. He didn’t have time to fall behind. Besides, he worked best under pressure. Improvisation was his thing, after all. _You can do it,_ Mac told himself, _but you can’t give up._

All the research he could ascertain about cancer, even if it was antiquated, was scattered around the room, and several papers had been pulled from their once neat piles, which now resembled Jenga towers. Any little bit of info could be the key component to the cure, but despite the knowledge he had amassed in the weeks since he’d discovered his father’s diagnosis, Mac was still hopelessly lost in the data, and unfortunately, he was no closer to a cure than he had been when he’d started.

Mac thrived on chaos, but chaos came with pressure, that little ticking clock in the back of Mac’s mind. When tasked with his father’s cure, Mac couldn’t keep a cool head. Normally, when Mac had a problem, all it took was some spare parts and a Swiss Army knife, but this particular problem seemed to require information that Mac didn’t yet have or didn’t yet exist, a thought which made his mind spiral as he scrutinized papers he’d already read a dozen times and could quote verbatim. Somewhere there had to be an answer. He was sure of it.

Mac was an easy going guy, he’d flirted with death too many times not to be, but he was only laidback so long as he had a hope of fixing whatever was broken; it was when he couldn’t quite jury-rig a solution that his head began to buzz and fuzz as his cool façade began to fail him. His brain could be his savior, but it could also be a torture chamber.

He remembered when his mom had died. At only five, he’d begged his dad to freeze his mother’s body after reading about cryogenics. Mac couldn’t comprehend that his mother was gone forever, that there was no solution to death. His dad had taught him that intelligence could solve any problem if you thought hard enough, and it had confused him when, sometimes, his brain simply didn’t have the supplies to piece together what he wanted it to. There was no worse feeling then his brain failing him. Without his brain, he was helpless, and that’s when he would begin to panic, his thoughts crashing against his skull like waves at high tide.

When Mac got like this, blinded by obsession, he needed to be pulled out of his head, but Jack, the one who knew Mac best and could keep Mac from falling into the dark corners of his head, was gone, and if Mac didn’t figure something out, his dad would be gone too. He shouldn’t be wasting his time worrying about what might happen, but the worry seems to be the only thing keeping him awake. _Maybe you can try to channel that into something productive._

The letters, numbers, graphs, and charts began to blur as Mac tried to keep focus. _You need to keep going_ , he told himself. _You can’t stop while you’ve still got steam._ He couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing, but he wouldn’t tear his eyes away. He needed to focus. _Focus, focus, focus._ He didn’t have time for his mind to fail him. With his busy work schedule, Mac didn’t have the luxury of spending his weekends sleeping. He needed to keep working. With shaky hands, he picked up an old MIT mug. He gulped some cold coffee that he hadn’t gotten around to drinking earlier. Caffeine, that would surely do the trick. At the very least, it would fool his body into thinking it had energy. _Keep going, keep going. He’ll die if you don’t keep going._

Mac wondered briefly if maybe he should sleep, and wake up with a clearer head, but he decided against it, a bombardment of thoughts volleying against his skull convincing him to maintain consciousness. The mere thought of going to sleep made Mac’s heart hammer, or maybe it was the caffeine. Either way, any sleep he got would be fitful. It was morning more than night now, anyway, and the sun would soon be poking through the trees and into the windows. Who could sleep when sunny California beckons them to get up and go? Sleep could wait until it became dark. These thoughts, the ones that monopolized Mac’s attention, wouldn’t go away until he finally figured them out. Until then, he’d stay up.

His stomach grumbled, and Mac knew that sleep deprivation had likely caused increased ghrelin, which, in turn, made him hungrier. It was only 4 am and breakfast wouldn’t be for hours, not that he cared about breakfast. Hunger was a nuisance, one he often forgot when he got too deep into his head. When things got busy, food often was the first thing dropped from the agenda. With how many times he’d been held captive, a missed meal here and there was hardly abnormal. Mac knew how to survive without food.

After his latest trip abroad, Mac had been given the weekend to recover, but meals didn’t seem that important. He couldn’t even make more than a piece of toast without burning down the kitchen. Mac knew that the human body could survive quite a while without food, weeks even, and as long as he stayed hydrated, he’d be okay. Not eating wasn’t a plan—Mac liked to eat— but it was simply an unintended side effect of Mac’s obsession.


	2. Arsonist's Lullabye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leesh"

**The Phoenix Foundation: After a very long weekend**

The Monday after an op usually meant two things: paperwork and analysis because as an agent in a top secret organization, not every day could be full of super spy allure. In fact, most days weren’t filled with escapades fit for action movies, which was a relief considering that Mac’s body and mind usually needed at least a week to get back into top shape. Thus, “paperwork Wednesdays,” as Jack would call them, even when they didn’t occur on Wednesdays, were tedious and necessary parts of the post-op recovery process, “hump days.”

Between field operations, Mac would have reports to file galore, but he’d also have analysis to do on cases that, while important, didn’t require boots on the ground. He liked the latter best because although nothing could beat the adrenaline rush he got in the field as reinvented random parts into useful new things, analyzing scenarios was a brain game that helped keep Mac’s mind sharp while his body could relax in the sleek comforts of the Phoenix foundation.

Today, Mac didn’t feel like he could do anything, an unusual mental obstacle made even simple tasks seem daunting. It felt like all energy had been drained from his body, which was probably true given his lack of sleep. Still, he’d been awake longer during plenty of ops, tortured and forced to stay alert by fear; yet, this fatigue sunk deeper into his bones than any tiredness he’d ever felt before. _Guess that means you need another cup of coffee._ **I already had four** , Mac replied to himself. _One more can’t hurt._ **I’ll never get a good night’s sleep if I keep this up**. _So? There are worse things than being awake. Your dad is dying, now is not the time to be thinking of poor little MacGyver’s sleep schedule._ **Right.**

In Mac’s Great Inner Dialogue Debate, the pro-coffee side won, so Mac poured a cup of sludgy coffee, the final coffee entrails rimming the bottom of the pot. Right away, he took a big gulp of coffee, brewed a new pot, took another gulp, and topped off his mug with the fresh brew. He slumped into his desk chair, letting the bitter taste graze his tongue. He didn’t dislike coffee, but he also didn’t enjoy it in the way some people did, the coffee aficionados who demanded special beans and blends. Mostly, Mac only drank it when he needed a boost, and today, he sure needed a boost.

He’d hook himself up to an IV drip of caffeine if he had one… come to think of it, he could probably make one from the contents of his desk drawer, but he decided against it. That might be too weird, even for him. His friends would probably drag him to the med bay and force him to sleep on one of the lumpy cots. Then, when he finally got some shuteye, they’d joke about he slept the day away. Mac would laugh along, but he’d feel stupid for having to take a nap in the middle of the day like a kindergartner.

“Ya’ll ready for paperwork Wednesday?” Bozer called into the bullpen, voice too loud and energetic for Mac to handle so early in the morning. While Bozer primarily worked in the lab during the team’s downtime, social butterfly that he was, he was always flitting into the bullpen to give Leanna, who was currently in Canada dealing with a threat against the Prime Minister, a quick kiss. He would then chat with the rest of the team, save for Matty who was usually in her office attending to more important matters, for as long as he could get away with. Sometimes, Matty would take a break from her own work just to drag Bozer back to the lab, but it was a losing battle because Bozer didn’t like to be confined to one area for too long. He needed action, even if the extent of that action was however far his imagination could carry the conversation.

“What?” Mac asked, looking up at his friend, head pounding. The sounds around him were muddled and the lights too bright.  He couldn’t make sense of anything. Was this caffeine overdose? Or was he just tired? _Maybe you’re just insane._ “Sorry, I can’t hear sounds that loud this early,” Mac complained. _Definitely insane._

Bozer looked at him quizzically, “That doesn’t make any sense, man.” _It’s only your first day back at work, and your brain is already failing you._ **Is not.** _Is too. Look at the evidence, Mac._

“All I’m saying, Boze, is that my brain can’t take so much energy this early.”

“Come on, Mac, where’s the pep in your step?” Boze said with a chuckle, carrying on with his lively chatter. “How about you, Riley? Desi? Ready for paperwork Wednesday?” 

Mac laughed to himself. Bozer was paperwork Wednesday’s number one fan, probably because he, being officially a lab tech, evaded most of the post-op reports, even when he spent more time in the field than the lab. Even Riley got lighter paperwork. Much of it was left to Mac or Desi, and Matty probably had a never-ending influx. Mac’s dad— _Oversight_ — probably had the most of all.

Riley barely glanced up from her computer but gave Bozer what Mac liked to call her eye-roll-smile, “Yeah,” she said dryly. “Paperwork Wednesdays always make me want to shoot out of bed and get to work as fast as possible.” She sighed, “I slept all weekend and still feel like I haven’t had enough.”

Desi raised her coffee cup, “I feel that.”

“Well, at least you got sleep,” Bozer said, eyes darting to Mac. “I don’t think Mac ever went to bed. He’s been going since we got off the plane. I’m lucky if I can get him to stop for a piece of toast.”

Mac felt three pairs of eyes glancing at him worriedly.

“Guys, I’m fine, really.” _That’s it MacGyver, tell them what they want to hear._

“I can tell,” Riley said sarcastically, attention no longer on her computer as she observed Mac’s sleep deprived form. “Not sleeping isn’t the best response to jet-lag, Mac,” she said easily, hiding her concern. Riley didn’t want to push Mac if he wasn’t ready to talk. She knew he wasn’t coping well with his father’s diagnosis, and when Mac was struggling, he dived headfirst into work, obsessing to the point that he forgot the needs of his body.

The group grew silent, trying to process the situation, figuring out what to say, and Mac knew that if he didn’t say something soon, Riley, or one of the others, would finally spit it out and ask a question Mac didn’t want to be asked, “Are you okay?” or “Is this about your dad?” They all, of course, knew that Mac wasn’t okay and could just as easily guess that it was about his dad, but that didn’t mean Mac wanted it vocalized. He didn’t know if he could handle those words hanging in the air, suspended for just a moment before dropping on his mind like a hail storm of titanium blocks. Words were a lot harder to ignore than feelings.

Mac crossed his arms. “I slept,” he protested, trying to keep his tone light. If he got angry, they would know for sure that it was serious, even Desi, who was watching the conversation between the trio carefully, would sense it. Desi was perceptive, and if she missed anything with Mac, it was only because she didn’t know him long enough to know what his normal was. “Of course, I slept. I’d be in a lot worse shape if I didn’t sleep.”

“Two hours on the couch, drooling all over your ginormous stacks of papers, hardly counts,” Bozer refuted. He knew Mac’s games better than anyone. _He’s had to deal with them since fifth grade. Don’t know how he’s dealt with your bullshit for so long._

“Papers? On the weekend?” Desi said, looking at him like he was a specimen in a lab. Since they met, she’d been trying to figure him out, and was doing a damn good job at it. “Couldn’t you wait for paperwork Wednesday, MacGyver? You just had to get a head start.” she tried to joke but couldn’t quite crack the apprehension and anxiety that had created a bubble around the little group. She was trying, but she had yet to fully integrate into the group dynamic.

When something was wrong with Mac, it was always hard to know how to handle it because Mac never liked to give any weight to his problems. Torture? _Feathers._ Wounds? _Tissues._ Abandonment issues? _Cotton balls._ He preferred to think that the pains he had were merely mild annoyances and that bad feelings could be willed away with a nonchalant smile. _Fake it until you make it._

“It wasn’t work. Just a little independent research,” Mac said, shrugging one shoulder. _Hours and hours of independent research._ “You know me. I can’t just let free time be free time. I don’t need sleep to do this kind of work, anyway. I could fill this stuff out with my hands tied behind my back.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you’ve tried, genius,” Desi said, “but you never know when an international incident will come up. So, if you want me to be able to keep you safe, you better take care of yourself.”

“I can take of myself perfectly well, thank you very much.”

“When I first got out of prison,” Riley answers carefully as to not startle Mac’s stubbornness, “I used to think the same thing. I thought, ‘I can’t rely on anyone but myself.’ But I’ve learned that we all need someone. Don’t forget, Mac, that you have a whole team of badass agents.”

“And Bozer,” Desi deadpanned, “our not-so-badass agent.”

“Why am I always the butt of the joke?” poor Bozer grumbled to himself. “Guess I better go back to my cave, where I'm appreciated," he added, saying his goodbyes. On his way out, he turned around and called to his friends, “And for your information, I am badass. I went to spy school! I killed a guy just last month!”

“Only because he choked on that lollipop you gave him when you thought he was just a friendly old man,” Riley countered.

“He was in a nursing home!”

Mac grinned. “Kill them with kindness, Boze. Kill them with kindness.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s the chapter! Easing into the story to show Mac’s state of mind. Some eating disorder behaviors will likely start next chapter so again pay attention to tags!


	3. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought that love was a kind of emptiness  
> And at least I understood then the hunger I felt  
> And I didn't have to call it loneliness”

**Mac and His Dad’s Favorite Diner: Waiting for longer than feels comfortable**

The diner was nearly empty, the lunch rush already having passed, but the humiliation of sitting in the booth alone, made Mac want to disappear. He was okay being alone. He was even okay eating alone, but the possibility of being stood up was mortifying. _If he doesn’t get here, everyone will know you’re not worth his time._ The seconds lagged, trailing his racing thoughts as his sweaty thighs stuck to the vinyl booth. To distract himself, he sipped on the coffee that the waitress had mercifully brought by. The hot drink did little to sooth him. If anything, the acid further irritated his otherwise empty stomach. **I should have had breakfast. Or dinner the night before.**

Mac hadn’t been a kid for a long time, but waiting for his dad, he felt ten-years-old again. His dad was only ten minutes late, but a knot had already formed in his stomach as negative thoughts cycled through his head, _What if he’s never coming back? What if he never wants to see you again? What if he never cared about you to begin with? What if it was all a ploy because he needs you at the Phoenix. What if he just doesn’t want to die guilty of abandoning his son?_ Mac knew he was being silly, but he couldn’t shake the thoughts from his mind. He shouldn’t be feeling this way after all these years. Didn’t growing up mean letting go of the things that hurt you in the past? He’d already forgiven his dad, so why couldn’t he forget all those feelings? _Because you know that one day he might not want you anymore. Or, worse, he’ll die, and you’ll never see him again, never even having the hope of seeing him._ **He’ll be here. He’d tell me if he wasn’t coming. Calm down.**

 His stomach twisted, and Mac couldn’t tell if it was from hunger or anxiety. There was no point wondering what this particular bodily cue meant because Mac had both, and in that moment, they were inextricable. If only James would hurry up, then Mac could fix both problems. Instead, Mad had to let those feelings stew in the pit of his stomach with the coffee that seemed to give both problems more vitriol. For some people, coffee was an appetite suppressant, but for Mac, it only made him hungrier unless he drank it nonstop, and for the good of his sleep schedule, he’d been trying to cut back.

 Waiting always made Mac antsy, but he spent most of his life doing it: waiting for the bad guy, waiting for a new assignment, waiting for his dad to show up. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Mac wasn’t impatient, but when not kept busy, the pitter patter in his brain would turn into pounding, the ticking would become booms. He wished he had some paperclips. He constantly needed to do something, even if it was as trivial as bending paperclips, just to get his minds off the things that would otherwise destroy him. Maybe that’s why he liked his job so much. It kept him on his feet, and in urgent scenarios, he didn’t have time to think about anything other than the here and now. Mac did his best work when he didn’t have time to overthink.

 A text pinged, breaking through Mac’s thoughts as he scrambled to unlock his phone to read the message. He shook his head. It was a meme from Bozer. He grinned to himself, suppressing a laugh because, _what’s weirder than laughing to yourself_ _as you’re being stood up at a diner._ He briefly forgot his unrest, which quickly recaptured its place in his mind once the post-meme amusement had dissipated. How quickly a mood could change.

Ping. Another text. Mac was faster to look this time. He sighed.

> **Dad** : Sorry, not feeling well. Can’t make it today. Raincheck?
> 
> **Mac** : That’s fine. I understand. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.
> 
> **Dad** : Will do. Thanks, son. 

He knew that it wasn’t his father’s fault; the man was sick, after all, but nevertheless, Mac felt disappointed and couldn’t help the voice in his head that wondered if maybe it was something he had done that kept his father from showing up. _Maybe he’s lying. Maybe he just didn’t want to see you._ **That’s ridiculous.** _Yet, you’re indulging that little bit of doubt, aren’t you, Boy Wonder._ **Him not being here has nothing to do with me. He’s just sick** , Mac reminded himself. _Cancer, cancer, cancer. You barely remember your mom dying, but if your dad dies, you’re going to remember every second. You’re going to know exactly what’s being taken from you._

The feeling of loss struck Mac as he wondered how many days like these cancer would take away? This time when his dad left him, he feared it wouldn’t be James’ choice, which would make it that much harder for Mac. He could be angry if his father left him for a job or one of a million other reasons, but if his dad died, he’d just be sad. Maybe he’d feel anger, but at the end of the day, he would have no right to be angry at his dad for dying.

The waitress stopped by the table to check on him, “Something wrong, sweetie?” 

“Yeah,” he said, “Dad’s not feeling well. He’s not going to make it.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, putting a light hand on his arm, “Do you still want to order something? If not, you can go, the coffee’s on me.”

“That’s kind of you, Val. I think I’ll just order without him. I’m starving.”

“Okay, honey, what would you like?”

He scanned the menu quickly, trying to find the food that would give him the most comfort. “I’ll have the big stack on pancakes,” he decided even though it was well after noon. Small blessings were things like diners that had all day breakfast.

“Want bacon or sausage on the side?” 

“Nah, just the pancakes, thanks.” He closed the menu and handed it to the woman. 

“Alright,” she gave him a last pat on the arm, “Order will be up soon.”

Just a few minutes later, the pancakes arrived, and Mac noticed he’d been given an extra large stack. “If you have extras, you can save the rest for later,” Val said with a wink. Mac had no intention of having any left overs. He was feeling ravenous and maybe food would fill the fluttery void in Mac’s stomach.

Quickly, not wanting to be in the diner for longer than he had to, he wolfed down his food. There was no point in taking his time because while eating with other people was a social experience, eating alone was merely a means to an end. People needed to eat, and Mac was fulfilling that need as efficiently as possible. Plus, by eating rapidly, he didn’t give himself time to think. Nothing had to enter his mind other than how good the pancakes tasted, soothing his anxious, hungry stomach.

He was full, but the twist in his stomach had yet to go away. Paying the bill, he raced out of the diner, heart pounding. He wasn’t sure what he needed, but he felt like he was out of his mind. Nothing felt right, and he needed a way to make things feel ordered again. He just wanted all the bad thoughts to go away.

Detached, he drove home mechanically and rushed into his house. He thought of the pancakes and missed the way that they sloshed in his mouth, dancing across his taste buds and grounding his weightless stomach. He hadn’t been getting enough food lately, and now that he remembered how wonderful it was, he couldn’t get his head off it. Maybe if he had just a little more, it’d be enough to make him feel less floaty.

He opened his pantry, scouring it for something to eat. His eyes caught a bag of spicy ranch chips and a jar of peanut butter. He grabbed both because why not? He had no intention of eating healthily so why limit himself? In fact, just those two things didn’t seem like enough. He craved variety. He could just have a little bit of everything he wanted. He’d stopped when he had enough. 

He raided the fridge, grabbing some cheese and leftovers of some rice dish Bozer had made and tried to get him to eat one day when he’d been looking at research all day.

He grabbed a spoon and a napkin and scurried to his room, closing the door behind him because he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing or why he was doing it, but he instinctually knew it was something he didn’t want anyone else to witness. He sat on the floor, turning on some inane show he found on Netflix so he could have background noise.

He dug into the chips first, shoveling them into his mouth to get the biggest possible burst of flavor. He nearly moaned when he tasted them. Desi was right; the spicy ranch chips were better. Why had he ever preferred barbeque? He pushed the chips aside for a moment to get a big spoonful of peanut butter. He licked at it, feeling it stick to his mouth. Damn, why had he not thought to bring water? _Moron._ He ate a few more spoonfuls of peanut butter and started on the cheese. When the cheese, yes, an entire block, was gone, he began digging into Bozer’s concoction, remnants of peanut butter still on the spoon. Before he could think better of it, he polished off the chips too. When all but a couple bites of peanut butter remained, he looked at the carnage of his feast and began to feel sick. Had he really eaten all that _and_ pancakes in one go? He couldn’t believe his eyes. Mostly, he couldn’t believe that he’d let himself behave like a rapacious animal.

Mac’s throat was so dry from all the salt and preservatives he’d consumed, but his body’s fullness cues had finally caught up with him, and he didn’t think that he could possibly put anything else into his body, even water. He’d never been so full in his life, and the intense sickness was like nothing else he’d ever experienced. Even drunken nausea was better. He’d been tortured and shot at plenty of times, and even so, this made the list of his top five worst experiences. If he felt like moving the wrong way might cause him to burst. In his current state, he couldn’t do anything, and there was nothing Mac hated more than being unable to get up and go.

 **I need relief. How can I fix this?** _What if you made yourself throw up?_ **I shouldn’t.** _Why not?_ **It can’t be healthy.** _It’s fine if you only do it this once. It’s not like you’ll ever be in this situation again. After this, you won’t want to eat for a week. You’ve learned your lesson. So, just give yourself some relief, Boy Scout. Don’t make yourself suffer. Besides, with the amount you ate, you’ll probably throw up anyway. Might as well expediate the process._ Mac couldn’t fight that logic.

Somehow, Mac dragged his body to the bathroom and sat himself at the toilet, trying to figure out the best way to go about this. He tried to appeal to his scientific brain, but his ability to think was clouded by what some people referred to as “food coma.” _All the more reason to get the food out. You’re useless if you can’t think._

He’d done this once before, when he was fifteen and drunk for the first time on two beers smuggled from Bozer’s house. He’d been sick to his stomach and thought that if he didn’t get the alcohol from his system, he would die. So, he’d stuck two fingers down his throat and made himself vomit so he wouldn’t have to wait for his body to expel the alcohol on its own. No one else could fix this. It was up to him to make himself feel better, he decided, and if he had to make himself vomit to do so, that’s what’d he’d do.

He dreaded the indignity of hunching over the toilet and sticking his fingers down his throat; he wasn’t some junior high girl who wanted to be skeletal, but at the same time, he couldn’t stand the thought of sitting with all that junk in his body. He couldn’t even stand upright without hunching over. His job was too active to let himself get out of shape. If Matty called him in, there’s no way he’d be able to do his job. This wasn’t something he could just let run its course. He had to take control.

He could do this. Just this once he could make himself throw up. _There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. You’re doing what Angus MacGyver does best: fixing your own problems._ He couldn’t help his dad. He couldn’t cure cancer, but he could cure his own sickness. 

Putting two fingers together, Mac took a deep breath. _Here you go. Gently, now._ He plunged his fingers down his throat, massaging his uvula. He heaved and little clumps of food came up but nothing substantial. He sighed. This wasn’t working. Making himself puke wasn’t as easy as it had been the first time, he noticed. Without the alcohol as a lubricant for his vomit, Mac had to try to get the food up the hard way, slowly but steadily. He was slightly disappointed when it didn’t all just come up in one big rush. He wasn’t sure why he had expected that it would. When people are sick, they usually vomited multiple times before they felt better, so why should this be any different?

 **Water,** he thought, **I need water.** Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he stepped back from the toilet, looking for something he could use as a cup. It didn’t take Mac’s genius to figure out that the cup he used for his toothbrush would do. It was gross, for sure, but it couldn’t get grosser than eating 5000 calories in one go and puking it all back up. He downed some water, praying it would help.

He spent the next hour trying to get as much out as possible. When he was done, he collapsed to the floor, tired and sticky. He flushed the toilet a couple times, looking at the pieces of vomit that had splashed onto his face, hands, the rim of the toilet bowl, and even his clothes. He’d have to find the energy to clean the toilet and take a shower, but first, he needed a few minutes to recuperate from the violent heaves and dehydration. He looked at his right hand, his trigger fingers, seeing red lines and indentations from his teeth. He hoped those would go away quickly. There was no easy way to explain why he’d been biting his own hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to progress! Lots yet to come. Hope you liked the chapter.


	4. The Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know what’s right and what’s real anymore,  
> And I don’t know how I’m meant to feel anymore.  
> When do you think it will all become clear?  
> ‘Cause I’m being taken over by the fear.”

**The War Room of the Phoenix Foundation: Preparing for another top secret mission**  

Matty was giving a briefing on a new assignment in Belgium. Apparently, they were going to protect the daughter of an important Belgian official. Shouldn’t be anything too hard. Mac was just glad to be getting back in the field after a dry spell, even if it was only a glorified babysitting job.

It’d been several weeks since Mac had made himself throw up, and “the incident” as he liked to call it had been weighing heavily on his mind ever since. It was something he wanted to pretend never happened, but he couldn’t imagine away how it had changed his daily life. His relationship with food had become tenuous in a way he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t consider himself to be afraid of food because he still ate it and even enjoyed it, but, at the same time, he wasn’t comfortable around food either. It felt dangerous in the same way that a kitchen knife did; if you weren’t careful you could cut a finger off.

 **Food isn’t my enemy. I need it to survive, so why does it feel like I’ve waged a war with my diet?** _Because what you need can too quickly become a vice. It’s easier to justify indulging in what you need than what you want._ Whatever the reason, the war had begun even if there had yet to be much fighting. The combat, the massacre, the devastation, that would all come. It was only a matter of time before the troops came rolling onto the battlefield, and a long, painful war would commence. While the Civil War was brother versus brother, this would just be Mac versus Mac. The little stirrings just before the fight had begun, and the shot heard round the world had already rung.

Food had become more than fuel. Mac couldn’t look at it without remembering the shameful way he had gorged himself. The way he had gotten lost in the moment with no ability to control himself was what scared him the most. He had been out of his head as he stuffed his face with whatever he could find. He hadn’t even had enough sense to tell himself to stop when his stomach had been well past capacity. He’d hurt himself with his own desires. It hadn’t occurred to him what he had been doing until he snapped back into full consciousness as the sickness in his stomach flared. He asked himself, _How could you, someone whose job requires constant awareness, not be aware of yourself in a task as simple as eating?_ It was disturbing that his brain, emotions, and body could disconnect like they had nothing to do with each other.

If it happened once, it could happen again, and without knowing what had caused it, Mac couldn’t stop it. So, he had to be extra careful. The required caution took more energy than Mac would ever admit. What should take ten seconds could now take ten minutes.

Simply deciding what to eat had become a chore because he couldn’t be sure what was safe and what might cause him to snap out of himself again. If pancakes had triggered it the first time, then waffles probably were also dangerous, and if waffles were dangerous, then maybe French toast was dangerous too, and if French toast was dangerous, then maybe even regular old toast wasn’t safe either. The chain could go on forever, and despite the massive amount of science in his head, Mac had no way to know what would cause his unraveling. 

Handling the monster that he’d inadvertently unleashed seemed impossible, so the best he could do was deprive it of any chance at life. Maybe the incident was only a one time thing, but Mac couldn’t be too careful. If he wasn’t careful he’d windup eating himself to an early death.  He’d never been afraid of being fat before, but his uncontrollable feast had made him wonder if maybe he should be afraid. He wasn’t even scared of the fat itself; rather, he worried the message being fat would send about him to the world. _Fat, lazy, pig, undisciplined, useless._ It didn’t matter that Mac knew those assumptions to be wrong because if he was fat, people would inevitable make them. 

People didn’t get obese overnight, but Mac couldn’t let obesity sneak up on him. He wouldn’t let himelf be caught off guard. _There’s nothing more dangerous than the problem you can’t see coming_. **I see it, and I won’t let it hurt me.** _You better make sure you’re vigilant because I don’t think you know how sneaky appetite can be._  

“Blondie,” Mac heard, “Did you hear a single word I said?” He looked up, trying to remember where he was. **Right, work.** Truthfully, he hadn’t heard anything except “Belgium” and “watching the daughter of an important official.”

He gave a boyish smile, “I guess I missed most of it.”

Matty gave him a harsh look. “Mac, you can’t be floating around in space if you want to get the job done. You have to be with us. _In reality_. Got it?” Her words were stern but calm. The safety of the entire fell onto Matty’s shoulders, and she took that responsibility seriously. She loved her team like a family, which was why sometimes she had to be firm. _She’s aware of her blind spots._  

“Yeah, Matty, sorry, just have a lot on my mind.” 

She looked at him sympathetically. “Well, until you get back, your mind should solely be on Emma Janssens. Her father is very important to our interests, and if we let anything happen to his daughter, it could cause an international incident.”

My head is clear,” Mac assured her. Matty glanced at Desi, communicating a message with just her eyes. **How does she do that?** _Plenty of practice._

Mac couldn’t figure out the meaning, but Desi, somehow, seemed to get it right away. They knew something he didn’t. **What am I missing?** “And I’ll make sure it stays that way,” Desi confirmed. _Let’s hope you never have to go against those two in charades._

“Good. Now get going. You don’t want to miss your plane. 

* * *

 

**The Janssens Estate: A very big house**

Desi, Mac, Riley, and Bozer arrived at the steps of a very big mansion, looking it at with awe. The gray stoned house looked like a castle with its turrets and old charm. The flower beds were carefully gardened, tulip bulbs and hedges carefully placed and shaped. Mac couldn’t deny the Janssens estate looked pretty, but it seemed like the kind of place that would have a draft, corners always chilly because no heating could warm its extremities _. The Frostbite Palace_ , the fingers and toes of the fortress turning purple in the cold, so far from the torso that it’s too easy to forget those little corners that never seem to get warm. 

Mac wouldn’t want to live there in the immensity but couldn’t deny the house was impressive, the product of a very wealthy man. Mr. Janssens certainly didn’t get this much wealth from a government job. If Mac had been paying attention to the briefing, he might have had an idea of where this guy had gotten his money, but of course, he’d been too distracted with his own little problems. _Hopefully that isn’t an important piece of information. Idiot._  

Desi reached out first to slam the lion shaped door knocker. Within the seconds, a butler opened the door to let them in. “Good evening. We were expecting you.” When the butler turned away to lead them into the house, Desi muttered, “Why does this feel like the beginning of a murder mystery?” 

Mac laughed. “That would make it a hell of a lot more interesting.”

Riley nudged him. “Don’t speak any danger into existence. I want smooth sailing for once.” 

“Mac can’t help it, Ri. He’s a trouble magnet,” Bozer replied.

The butler led them into an airy sitting room adorned with floral rugs, chandeliers, and draperies. It was a little too stuffy for Mac’s tastes but to his relief, warm. Emma Janssens was tapping at her phone with slender fingers, sending texts if Mac had to guess. She looked up from her phone, glancing at her guests. “You must be here to make sure I don’t get into any trouble.”

“Do you find yourself getting into a lot of trouble?” Desi asked, all business.

“Not any that you can protect me from,” she said petulantly, flipping her dark hair with a dainty arm that jangled as a dozen bangles clinked together. She definitely had a unique style, which, with her level of confidence, she could easily pull off.

Riley grinned, “Then you haven’t met Mac. You should see the troubles he’s gotten us out of.”

"One time,” Bozer added, “he prevented a nuclear war with just a rubber band and a straw.”

“Should you really be telling me that? Sounds classified.” 

“Who would believe you if you told such a ridiculous story?” Riley questioned because even though she witnessed it herself, she could hardly believe it had happened. It was one of those moment when Mac’s genius had ventured into superhero territory. 

“You’re right about that. It is rather unbelievable. Now, let’s get to business. Rumor has it, some goons are going to try to kidnap me within the next week, and I want to hear what you plan on doing about it. How about we talk over lunch? Too often, I eat alone.” 

Mac cut in, “You don’t have to go to the trouble of feeding us.”

“I know, but I insist. Besides, I have a whole table full of food. It would be a shame to eat all by myself. You’ll love Marianne’s macaroons.” 

“Well, we can’t say no to that,” Bozer said, eyes gleaming at the mention of sweets.

Mac sighed, eyes shadowy. “No, I guess not.”

* * *

The dining room was brighter than the parlor, the sun breaking through the otherwise drab room, but Mac’s attention wasn’t on the sunniness. Emma hadn’t been kidding when she said there was a table _full_ of a food. The entire 10 setting table was packed with sandwiches, cheeses, snacks, and sweets. There was a time when Mac might have liked so much delectable food. Now, looking at table with enough food to feed army, Mac’s chest began to tighten. It all looked so good that he wanted one of everything, which meant that eating just one thing would be a risk. _If you start eating, you might not be able to stop. You’ll eat it all and hate yourself for it. You’ll lose control, and in front of everyone, you’ll become an animal more than a human._  

Mac stared at it all, standing paralyzed a few feet from the table.

Bozer was the first to start digging in, starting with the sugary end of the table. Riley and Desi followed, loading their plates happily but without Bozer’s excess enthusiasm. Mac maintained his distance, not ready to get within reaching distance of the food.

“Don’t you want anything, Prince Charming? You don’t have to stand so far away. I promise I won’t bite.” **She’s not the one I’m worried about biting.**

“I’m not really that hungry.” 

“Come on, Mac,” Bozer said around a mouth of food, “At least try some of these cookies. They’re delicious.”

“Yeah, Mac,” Emma said, batting long, black eyelashes “Try a cookie. It would be rude not to have something. I made them myself.”

“You did not.”

“You’re right, but that means they’ll taste all the better.” 

“You’re not having anything either,” he commented, noticing that she too was standing back as the others indulged. 

“You don’t get to look like this by feasting,” Emma spun, showing off her little figure. “But you’re a big, strong man. You don’t need to have restraint. You can eat anything you want. I envy that, Mac. I envy your power.” _Power? She thinks you have power. Wonder what she’d think if she realized that you’re just as powerless to food as she is. Do you think she’d be flirting with you then? Probably not._  

She held out a platter of almond shortbread cookies, Mac’s favorite. “I have a whole platter of cookies just for you.” How had she known?

“How did you—”

She put a finger over his lips, sliding her finger down to his bottom lip so she could peel his mouth open. “Shhh, don’t speak. Just eat the cookies.” She tried slipping a cookie into his mouth, but Mac wouldn’t bite.

“Mac, come on, eat them,” someone unfamiliar said, and Mac felt a chill deep in his bones. The Frostbite Palace was beginning to get to him. **Am I losing my mind?** _Maybe you’ve already lost it._  

“Yeah, Blondie,” he heard Matty say through his earpiece, “Have some cookies. No need to be so serious all the time.” **Doesn’t she have better things to do than tell me to eat cookies?**

“Just eat,” he heard Emma say as if it were that simple. **Shouldn’t it be that simple?**  

“Fine,” he conceded. He took the platter from Emma, putting one cookie in his mouth. It melted on his tongue, soft and sweet. He could taste the magical combination of almond extract and shortening, strong and potent. _One’s never enough._ Of course, one wasn’t enough. So, he had another and another and another. Before he knew it, the whole platter was gone.

His head began spinning, the empty platter crashed to the floor. “Weren’t those good?” he heard. The world morphing, colors blurring to resemble a kid’s painting.

"What did you do to me?”

She giggled. “You did it to yourself.” He felt too full, the same sickness as the night of the incident. 

“Where are my friends?”

“They’re gone, MacGyver.” **Gone? Gone where? Dead?**

“Matty,” he called, “Can you hear me?”

“She’s gone too.”

Nothing was making sense. “What’s wrong with my head?” 

“Think MacGyver. What could be causing your symptoms?” she asked with a sugary laugh. 

 _Sweet cookie. Almond taste. Bitter._ “Arsenic.”

“Very good,” she patted his head, “Now you know why I didn’t have anything to eat.”

He could have sworn he heard Desi’s voice, “Guess this was a murder mystery, after all.”

“And you’re the victim,” came Riley’s voice, but he couldn’t see his friends anywhere. 

 _Sweet cookie. Vertigo. Delirium._ “Arsenic.”

Emma patted him on the head. “Yes, MacGyver, you got it. No need to repeat yourself. I already told you that you were right.” That was still Emma speaking, wasn’t it?

He couldn’t distinguish much of anything, not even the frantic movements of his own hands. So, this was how Angus MacGyver was going to die, by lousy arsenic poisoning because of a bunch of cookies he didn’t even want to eat in the first place. _I told you to be careful, but you didn’t listen._

His ears began to ring, so intensely that he imagined blood pouring out of them, but ear bleeding wasn’t a symptom of arsenic poisoning. At least, he didn’t think so, but he wasn’t really sure of anything anymore. Was this a symptom of dying, slipping away slowly into insanity? It hadn’t been long enough since he had eaten the cookies for death? Or had it? He couldn’t seem to remember how long it was supposed to take or how long it had been since he’d had the first cookie.

The ringing persisted, crescendoing as Emma gave an evil monologue that Mac couldn’t comprehend. **Who is this bitch?** His head was pounding. Poison and a sugar high, what an awful combination.

He clenched his eyes, trying to block out the brightness of the room so that he could concentrate on finding a solution. **Think, think, think.** _Is there even a solution?_ **There’s always a solution.** _Maybe not. Your brain’s given up on you. You brought this on yourself, MacGyver._

Then, it was completely dark, the sunshine no longer creeping in from the corners of his eyelids. Was this death? Had Mac’s own gluttony been the thing to finally kill him? At least his last meal had been a good one, save for the arsenic laced part. 

His eyes snapped open, and he saw the ceiling. _His_ ceiling. He was in his bed, he realized, home, with his alarm ringing in his ear and Emma nowhere in sight. He turned off his blaring alarm, relieved to be rid of the awful sound. He’d only been dreaming, he confirmed— _nightmaring_. His ears weren’t bleeding. He wasn’t losing his mind. He wasn’t dying. He hadn’t eaten the cookies.

**What the hell was that?**

Fear, it surged through him, even now that he was awake. He felt tense, the haze of waking up still tired fogging his senses. It had felt so real, surreal upon reflection, and he couldn’t shake the paranoia and guilt loitering in his mind. His morning breath was tinted with the taste of arsenic, and the coldness of the mansion lingered, a chill in his fingers and toes.

What concerned him the most was how scared he felt even after making a cup of coffee to bring himself back into the land of the living and not a zombified state. He wrapped his fingers around his mug, breathing in the steam and inhaling the caffeine. He replaced the bitterness of the arsenic with the bitterness of black coffee, hoping the tastes would cancel out. He prayed the coffee would wash away all memory of the dream, but Mac suspected this wasn’t one of those dreams that he would slowly lose pieces of during the day. He’d remember when he saw his friends at work, when he had lunch, the next time he ate a cookie. Every time he’d begin to forget, the ghost of the dream would come back to haunt him through the most mundane parts of his life.

He hadn’t done anything wrong, but he felt guilty for the dream version of himself, the Mac that allowed temptation to kill him. Dream Mac could too quickly become real Mac, the lines blurring between fact and fiction, and that thought was harrowing.

 _Fat, gross, out of control slob. You’re even disgusting in your dreams._ **I didn’t eat that food. It’s okay. I’m okay,** Mac reminded himself. _Nothing’s okay, Mac. It’s only a matter of time before the demons of night come to visit you during the day. Remember how full you felt? The day’s only just begun. There’s plenty of time to ruin it. Don’t you crave those cookies, to taste the sweetness in real life?_ **They would have killed me**. _Yeah but your reptilian brain doesn’t know that. It just wants to be fed._ The almondy taste returned. Mac gulped his coffee, letting the warmth slither down his throat, doing little to calm him.

Thoughts of cookies bombarded his brain, and Mac wanted to go vomit, just to be sure none of those arsenic laced treats had sneaked inside, but he resisted the urge because that would be crazy. Throwing up coffee and imaginary cookies would mean he actually had a problem. **I don’t have a problem.** He’d still only had one incident, and when something only happened one time, it could be called an anomaly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM! Another chapter. Sorry for the wild ride, but I'm just going where the story takes me. Strap in. Things are going to get intense. Probably won't be a whole lot of action like in the show, but plenty of psychological action! 
> 
> As usual, feel free to comment or reach out to me if there's any suggestions you have or you just have something you're dying to comment on. I always love feedback because most of the time, I'm just winging it, not really sure what I'm doing (but, hey, aren't we all). 
> 
> Thanks for reading. It means a lot to me.
> 
> Hint for next chapter: The fears Mac has are really going to take hold and lead him down a dangerous path that will consume him for much of the story.


	5. One Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was a liar, I gave into the fire  
> I know I should’ve fought it,  
> at least I’m being honest”

**Mac’s House: The bathroom floor**

He’d done it again. He’d eaten all the food he could find and puked it back up. It’d been nearly a month since his last incident, and he figured he was finally safe. _I told you not to let it sneak up on you. It’s your fault for not listening._ **It’s been weeks. I should’ve been safe.** _You’re never safe, MacGyver. This monster will always be a part of you. The best you can do is avoid it._ **How did I even get here?**

Life had been going so well. His dad, while still sick, was as healthy as he could be all things considered. The cancer was caught early, making the prognosis optimistic. It’d still be a long journey, but James was convinced that he wouldn’t be dying any time soon and liked to remind Mac of it. Mac still wasn’t so sure, but he’d calmed down a little since discovering his father’s illness. He hadn’t yet been able to stop his cancer research entirely, but he wasn’t spending whole weekends digging through the papers either.  

He’d also stopped being so wary around food. The thought of eating a pancake still bothered him, but he could open the fridge without feeling like he was on his way to the gallows. Things were starting to return to normal, but then, just as soon as he thought the incident had only been a one time thing, he was back on the bathroom floor, feeling like a loser. He’d been doing so well until it felt like his life was being overturned all over again. 

The negative thoughts had stopped screaming, becoming white noise in the back of his head. Now, they were back at full volume, like a drill sergeant yelling in Mac’s ears, _worse than any sergeant you ever knew._  

Mac’s backwards spiral had started with a mission in Russia that had gone terribly wrong, nearly Cairo level wrong. _And it was all your fault._  

Mac had been building a catapult to fling an explosive device at the guardsmen blocking the entrance of the Russian base they were trying to infiltrate when his attention had strayed for just one moment, causing him to miss a key component in building the catapult. _Idiot._ That one mistake created a domino effect, causing everything that should have worked to fall out of place.

When the catapult failed, they all nearly exploded. _Because of your stupidity_. From there, things didn’t get better as the guardsmen closed in on them. Since luck was not on their side, Riley was shot, Desi was stabbed, and later, Leanna had to crash land their plane. Mac was mostly fine other than a few bumps and bruises, which only made him feel worse. **When I mess up, I should be the one who’s hurt.** Mac’s guilty conscience had been chewing at him ever since. He knew no one blamed him; after all, even Angus MacGyver couldn’t succeed one hundred percent of the time. Even so, rarely did his attempts end so disastrously. **At least it wasn’t worse than Cairo.** _Luck is the only reason it wasn’t._

Mac had gotten home late that night and immediately plopped into bed, too tired to think, or eat, or feel guilty, but when he woke up, the feelings he had suppressed returned as vibrantly as the California sun. _You could have killed them just because you weren’t being careful enough. I thought you were better than that. I thought you knew how to keep your head focused, but obviously, you can’t. You think you’re so smart, but you act so dumb._ **Shut up!** _Make me._

He needed a distraction; then, he wouldn’t feel so awful. If he put himself back into a routine, maybe could feel normal. _Or at least fake it until you make it._ How did a normal person start his day? **Breakfast.** Breakfast, that was simple enough. Mac could manage that. He couldn’t make a three course meal, but some coffee and a banana would do. _You don’t have any bananas._ **Toast** , he thought, **people have toast for breakfast**. But then he remembered French toast, then waffles, then pancakes, and breakfast suddenly felt less comfortable. _Toast, French toast, waffles, pancakes, breakfast. Out of control. Fat. Bad. Worthless._ **Stop.** _Toast, French toast, waffles, pancakes, breakfast. Out of control. Fat. Bad. Worthless._ **Stop!** _Toast, French toast, waffles, pancakes, breakfast. Out of control. Fat. Bad. Worthless._ **STOP!**

The more he tried to stop his thoughts, the louder they grew. Why was he making such a big deal over something as ordinary as food? For weeks, he’d been eating normally. He’d been okay. He hadn’t gorged himself or even had anything unhealthy. Why was eating back to being hard?

He couldn’t let some stupid fear of food stop him from living his life. He wanted to stop thinking. He wanted to stop feeling. So, he let go and ate the toast. **It’s just toast. It doesn’t have any power over me.** Once he put it to his tongue, the negative thoughts fell back to the distance, but it was only a short reprieve. As he was eating the last piece of toast, he felt a boiling in his stomach. He missed the distraction of eating before he’d even swallowed. He craved just a few more moments of peace, a little longer in the sweet, pleasurable state of consumption. 

He was meeting his dad for lunch, but Mac couldn’t wait that long. He needed instant gratification. He needed to feed his appetite, even if he no longer had hunger. If he didn’t eat something else, he’d never stop thinking about lunch, and lunch was too far away. If he didn’t do something, he was going to go crazy.  

Breakfast didn’t need to be over. He grabbed a muffin. **This still counts as breakfast, right?** But the muffin wasn’t enough, so he grabbed a cupcake. **Just a muffin’s cousin.** Two, three, four cupcakes. **Why stop now?** A pint of coffee ice cream. **Coffee makes it breakfast adjacent.** Five, six, seven cupcakes. **Might as well finish the box**. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. **If I only had one more, I could make it a baker’s dozen.** He fell into a trance, consuming with no idea what he was doing. Corn chips, soda, something or other. Food, more food, all the food. By the time he was done, he’d eaten so much that he didn’t dare count it all. _It’d be easier to count the stars_.

 **Fuck, what have I done?** Once again, he was full and disgusted. This monster inside of him was more than a fluke, he realized. _It’s a danger, a very real danger._ He’d let this thing possess him again, and he needed to rid his body of its influence. _Get rid of it. You know how._ **I can’t do that again.** _You have no choice._ **There’s always a choice.** _There’s not. You have to go to lunch with your father. You’re too full to go like this. Hurry up and fix this. Time is running out._ **I can’t.** _Tick-tock._ **I shouldn’t.** _Tick-tock._ **Just this once?** Yes, he’d give into his dark urges once more, but he wouldn’t let himself be put in this position again. **One last time.**   

* * *

 

Mac brushed his teeth and swished some mouthwash to rid his breath of the putrid aftertaste. He glanced at the clock. **Shit. I’m going to be late.** He hurriedly wiped off his face, scurrying out of the bathroom, only to run into Bozer. **Just what I need.**  

“Mac—” Bozer tried to say, dark eyes stormy. _Danger, he’s concerned. Run before a serious conversation can catch you._  

“Sorry, Boze,” Mac said, brushing past him, “Can’t talk. I need to go meet my dad and I’m already running late.” 

“But—” Bozer tried again, but Mac was out of the door before he could hear the rest. _Great way to treat your best friend, Boy Scout. He’s going to hate you if you keep treating him like this. Everyone will. How’s it feel to constantly mess everything up? Your life is crumbling, but you don’t seem to care to do anything about it._

* * *

 

**Mac and His Dad’s Favorite Diner: James actually showed up this time**

James sat across from his son, studying the younger man. He looked tired and disheveled, dark bags under his eyes, forehead scrunch in perpetual worry.  “Are you still burying yourself in research?” James asked casually after their coffee had arrived.

Mac gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Not as much as I was, but I’m not giving up.” Mac had been distracted lately and felt guilty that he wasn’t working as hard on the cancer problem. **I’m a terrible son.**

“Son,” James said carefully. “You don’t need to worry yourself with finding a cure. My treatment’s been going well. You don’t need to try to fix me. I have doctors for that.” 

“I’m just trying to explore all avenues. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“I know that, and I appreciate your concern, but this is why I didn’t tell you in the first place.” 

“What? What do you mean?” Mac felt his reaction to his dad’s cancer had been appropriate. He’d pushed his own feelings aside so that he could focus on his father instead of himself. What was so wrong with that? 

“I just know how you are. Angus, your mind is capable of great things, but when you can’t find an answer, you fixate on whatever it is you don’t know and work yourself to the point of neglect.”

“What would you know about it? You haven’t exactly been around.” **Why would I say such a terrible thing?** _You always have a way of messing things up._ **He’s trying to make things better, and I’m ruining his efforts by bringing up the past.** _No wonder he left you. You’re never satisfied. You’re bitter and angry and kick the man when he’s down._ **He’s sick and here I am making things harder for him.** _You’re selfish, MacGyver, always making everything about you._

James bit his lip. “Maybe not, but I know enough to see that you’ve changed since you found out.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s okay. I understand that I can’t make up for nearly two decades in just a few months. Maybe I missed a lot, but I’ve made a career on observation, and you clearly aren’t handling things well.”

“I’m fine,” Mac insisted, “You should be worrying about yourself, not me.” 

“I’m your father. I’m always worried about you. Even when I wasn’t around, I was worried because I may be a shitty father, but I can never forget about you. I could be in the hospital, hooked up to a ventilator, barely surviving, and I’d still want to make sure you’re okay.”

“And I am. I’m great. Let’s just talk about something else. Something happier, perhaps.” 

James didn’t let up. “You’ve been running yourself ragged. Bozer told me that you were sick before you got here. You should be in bed, not here with your old man.” 

“When did you talk to Bozer?” Mac asked, voice raised and raspy. He cleared his throat, but the effects of bile and stomach acid couldn’t be pushed away that easily. 

“He sent me a text after you ran out of the house without talking to him. He’s worried.” **Why can’t anyone mind their own business?**

“He shouldn’t be. I’m fine, a little tired but fine.” 

“If you’re not feeling well—" 

“If I was sick, I would have cancelled. I wouldn’t risk exposing you to my germs. I’m not an idiot.” _Aren’t you? You can’t even control how much food you eat. Sounds pretty idiotic to me. Most people can have a piece of toast without turning into complete pigs. You can’t even do that._

“Angus, I’m not worried about germs. What I’ve been trying to say is that you don’t look good, kid. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“You of all people understand that I just back from a tough op. Haven’t really had the time to catch up on my beauty sleep, Dad.” _Oversight, call him Oversight. Don’t let yourself get too attached._

“I think it’s more than that.”

Their waitress spared Mac from answering, “Ready to order?” 

Oversight nodded, rattling off an order for a sandwich but Mac hadn’t paid attention to know exactly which one. He was too busy debating what to get for himself. 

After his big breakfast, Mac figured he should just have something light, _but_ _what’s the fun in that?_ _Why not just keep on the breakfast train?_ **I shouldn’t.** _You’ve already messed up, so why quit? Might as well just keep on with the downward spiral._

“And for you?” The words made Mac frantic. He had to think fast, but his brain couldn’t think fast enough.

 **Get something healthy.** _No, don’t do that!_ “Um,” he uttered, perusing the menu. _You can eat everything you want and make it disappear. It’ll make you feel better. Then tomorrow you can go back to being normal. One last time, Mac. It’ll make you feel good._ **Screw it. Just one more time, and then, I can be better tomorrow.**

“I’ll have the pancakes,” he finally decided… _And?_ He added, “with a side of bacon.”

* * *

 

Mac was once again on the bathroom floor, feeling completely drained. He could barely keep his body upright let alone string more than a few thoughts together. It was a nice break from the hubbub of his mind, even if it came at a high cost.

 Of course, the thoughts didn’t stay away for long, slowly creeping back into his consciousness as the post-binge high wore off. _Twice in one day, really living your best life, huh MacGyver?_ **This is the last time.** _You’ve said that every “last” time so far. Yet, here you are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always. Love you all. Be back soon with a new chapter. Plenty has yet to happen. Warning: this is only the beginning of what I'm going to put Mac through! Anyway, feel free to leave some feedback. Hope you liked this chapter.


	6. No Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s trouble in the world, and trouble in my mind  
> Trouble is, there never seems to be enough time.”

**The War Room: Too early in the morning**

It was 5 am and the war room was packed with bodies: Mac, Desi, Riley, Bozer, Leanna, Matty, Oversight, and a handful of other agents who had been called in especially for this case.

Mac felt like shit. He was binging more consistently now, and the night before he’d had a particularly rough bout of vomiting. It had taken him three hours to get everything out, and partway through he’d had to move to the garage so that Bozer wouldn’t get suspicious because while turning on the shower helped drown out the noise of retching, taking a three hour shower would inevitably send red flags.

So, he’d had the brilliant idea of purging into a bucket on the cold, concrete ground of his garage, which is about as glamorous as it sounds. Bozer always steered clear of the garage, thankfully, because Mac had yet to dispose of the bucket of puke. _You’re disgusting._ He dreaded to think what the garage would smell like when he got back.

The morning after purging, Mac had quickly learned, was a lot like being hungover. Dehydration and fatigue were accompanied by a killer headache and nausea from all the stomach acid sloshing around in his empty stomach.

“You’re looking chipper,” Desi had quipped when Mac had gotten to the Phoenix.

“As chipper as I can be at 5 am,” he said in a monotone voice. He was too tired for inflection. “I’ve had a gallon of coffee.” 

“I’ve already had three cups,” Riley commiserated. 

Desi raised four fingers, “Four here.”

Bozer shook his head. “Are y’all people or caffeine?”

Leanna shook her head. “I definitely don’t feel human today.” **Welcome to the club. I haven’t felt human in weeks**.

“Good morning, agents,” Oversight said, interrupting the chatter. “I’ve called you in so early because we need all the eyes we can get on this case. I want all of you to do your best work on this. Any screw ups could sully the reputation of this entire organization. Got it?” Not so much those who personally knew Oversight but the agents who had been called in especially for the case, nodded with enthusiasm, knowing that it was always a good idea to show the boss respect. He gave them a nod in response, “That’s all from me. I trust Matty to handle the briefing and lead this operation.” Then, Oversight left, something that always made Mac feel a twinge in his stomach. **Don’t worry. This time, he’ll come back.**

Wasting no time, Matty went right into the briefing. “There have been whisperings of a new bioengineered pathogen being spread among the intelligence community. Bart Walters, an MI6 operative,” a fortyish year-old man with sandy-gray hair appeared on the screen, “has been able to confirm that a pathogen, nicknamed Kiki, exists and has the potential to be even deadlier than if the smallpox virus was released.”

“This woman,” Bart’s picture faded, only to be replaced by a grandmotherly looking woman, “Is Sylvia Veretto. While she looks like she’d bake cookies for you, beware. She has more notches on her gun than the age of all of us in this room— combined— and those are only the kills we know about. She has more expertise in this field than anyone, which is why all of you are here today. Veretto is facilitating a sale of Kiki, which we can’t let happen.”

“Veretto,” Mac said, searching his brain. “Wasn’t she nearly successful in a massive ricin poisoning in 2009?”

“Very good, Blondie. Indeed, that’s her work. Luckily, we were able to stop her then, but it’s unclear all the nefarious things she’s been up to since. She’s evaded us for a decade now, and decades before that, which shows that she’s not going to be easy to take down. That’s why so many of you have been tasked with this operation. My two best teams should be able to handle this one woman. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am.

“Do whatever you can to keep Kiki out of the wrong hands.”

* * *

 

**Palmer Hotel: Apparently a hubbub for criminals**

They got the virus, but, unfortunately, Sylvia had slipped away amid the chaos Mac had created (a couple mild explosions). Though, Mac had the pleasure of meeting her before she’d disappeared.

He’d been tasked with keeping her occupied while Riley and Desi took retrieved Kiki from where Sylvia had stashed it. “Why do I have to be the one to deal with her?” Mac had asked.

Matty replied, “Because Sylvia is known for like boys who are blond and significantly younger than her. Besides, there’s no one better to make sure she has no way to MacGyver her way out of capture.” Which is exactly what she had wound up doing. _Idiot._

Operation distract the cougar had started out well, but from the beginning it didn’t go as planned. Before Mac could even try out his flirting, Sylvia approached him. “Ah, Angus MacGyver,” she whispered in his ear. Her hot breath sent a shiver down his spine. “It seems we can skip the introductions.”

He took a step back from her. “Apparently so.” **How does she know me?**

She took a step towards him. “Angus MacGyver, you’re a very naughty boy,” she said. Mac heard giggles over the comms. He’d be hearing about that for months. “You’re not supposed to be here, but when I saw how dashing you were I thought, ‘The more the merrier.’ Besides, I figured any friend of Peter’s is a friend of mine,” she said caressing his cheek. Mac hated the way she looked at him with those lustful eyes, but he had to play along if he wanted to keep her attention.

“Peter? Not sure I know who you’re talking about.” He knew several Peters, but none he could imagine associating with Sylvia. 

“You probably know him as Murdoc,” she said, her body close to Mac’s. Her perfume tickled the hairs in his nose as he tried not to sneeze. 

“Murdoc doesn’t have friends.” 

“Well, when you live lives like ours, friend is a funny word. Sometimes the ones who know you the best are the ones you have to kill while sometimes the ones you hate the most are the ones you have to keep alive. It’s tragic, really.” She yawned, boredom showing on her features more than fatigue. “Being a criminal is hard.”

“Glad we’re not friends then.”

“Not yet, dear boy, but I’d like to be. I’m hoping to replace Peter as your arch nemesis. It would really pleasure me to take you from him. He misses you, you know.”

“What do you want?” Mac said, trying to keep the conversation focused. He had to keep her in line to make sure she wasn’t trying any tricks.

“I want to give you a gift.”

“I have a feeling I don’t want whatever you have to offer.”

“I want to give you Kiki.”

“I don’t believe that.” **I can’t wait for her to realize that I got Kiki without having to make any backroom deals. That it was taken right out from under her nose.**

“I have no need to lie. I don’t need to trick you to destroy you. Actually, I have no plans to destroy you at all. At my age, I have better things to keep me amused, lots of suckers who I very gladly will destroy.”

“Criminals don’t give away merchandise for free.” _Keep her talking at all costs. Riley will tell you when she’s got Kiki._

“No, of course we don’t. This wouldn’t be a freebie.”

“What’s your price?” He tried to sound as desperate as he could. She had to believe that he’d want Kiki enough to make a under the table deal with a criminal.

“Before we negotiate, I need you to remove and disable your comms. I don’t want anyone listening. This is for your sweet ears only.” She brushed back a strand of his hair, tucking it behind his ear.

“What makes you—”

“Don’t try to trick me, MacGyver. Just do as I say. I let your friends listen in long enough. This conversation requires more intimacy.” _Keep your cool. She’s trying to get under your skin. Don’t let her._ Mac sighed. He supposed he would have to oblige and hope he kept her talking long enough. Otherwise, she’d leave. He removed the comms from his ear.

“There, all gone. Now tell me your proposal,” he said with and edge to his voice. _Cool it, no need to get angry. You can only keep her talking if you keep yourself calm. Control yourself, MacGyver. Don’t let your impulses carry you away._

“No need to get upset. We’re just two adults talking,” she said, brushing another hand through his blond locks. “Some things are worth more than money. How do you think I’ve stayed in the game this long? I operate in IOU’s.”

“And what would I owe you?”

Her hand moved down his neck to rest on his back. “I give you Kiki, and you owe me a yet to be determined favor. Although, I do love the anticipation before the climax, I won’t make you wait in suspense for too long before cashing in my favor. I’m very generous in that way.”

“I’m not going the break the law, not to do your bidding at least.” Mac would steal, or he preferred to say borrow, the occasional car or chemistry supplies, but the item was always returned and used to, you know, save the world from catastrophe.

“I wouldn’t ask you to break the law, darling. I’ve burned bridges with some very bad men and even worse women, and I’ve found that sometimes the best solution is not to kill my enemies but to destroy their lives by putting them away in little cages, a fate worse than death. I’m merely asking to do your job in a way serves me. You do what you do best, taking down bad guys, and I continue to live my life in the way I’m accustomed. Some of my closest allies are the supposed good guys.”

“I can’t do that. My boss would never permit it.”

“I don’t want you to ask permission, Angus. This is a secret meant to stay between us.  I’m giving you an offer and you can take it or leave it, but if you don’t take it, who knows what I’ll do.”

“I don’t respond to threats.”

“Maybe you should.” She looked at her watch. “We’re running out of time.” **I can’t stall any longer.** _You must._ **Hope they have the pathogen.** _Keep stalling._ “Decision time.”

“I can’t say yes.”

“But you have yet to say no. Why?”

“Decisions have been hard lately. Seems like I always make the wrong ones.” _Yeah, that’s good. Keep going._ “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Guess I’ve been stuck in my head.”

“Thinking too much makes doubt stronger, which is never good in either of our lines of work.”

“Then, I guess you know why I don’t want to make this decision. I have a lot of doubts.”

“And I guess we’re at an impasse,” she said firmly, stepping back from him. Mac was relieved to have her out of his personal space. “I’ll be seeing you later.”

She turned to walk away but Mac grabbed her arm. “No, don’t go. We need to talk about this,” he said a little too frantically.

“We have.”

“Not enough.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “I feared it might come to this.”

“Come to what?”

Sylvia pulled some bronzer out of her purse. **She’s doing her makeup now? Weird.** “I guess I’ll be seeing you later, dear MacGyver.” She opened the container, and before Mac could realize the bronzer was actually a detonation device, Sylvia pressed a button, throwing her purse towards Mac, and disappearing under the smoky cover that resulted from a chemical reaction within the purse. _A smoke bomb. Of course, the purse was a smoke bomb. Should’ve known that, dummy. Explosives are supposed to be your specialty._

It hadn’t been a particularly dangerous chemical reaction inside that purse, so, Mac wasn’t hurt. _Other than your pride._ **A purse bomb, original. I’ve seen briefcase bombs and backpack bombs, but never a purse before.**

Mac was almost impressed; after all, he was usually the one making things go boom. It was strange to see someone else doing the thing he was supposed to be good at. _If only you could have figured something out. Now, Sylvia is still out in this world causing unknown harms. Who knows what she’ll do next, but whatever it is, it will be on you. All because you let her outsmart you. You knew she was sneaky; yet, you weren’t careful enough. You let yourself be distracted._

“I’m disappointed, Mac,” Riley said as they got on the jet. For a second, Mac’s heart sunk. **I let everyone down.** Riley continued, “I wanted to see you try to flirt with her. That would have been hilarious.” Mac laughed in relief. **It was only a joke.** _Doesn’t make you any less of a disappointment. Just because she didn’t say it doesn’t mean she didn’t think it._

“The situation wasn’t without humor,” Desi chimed in. “She did call him ‘naughty boy.’” The girls giggled, but Mac couldn’t stop thinking about what he could have done better.

Riley noticed Mac’s long face. “We were only joking, Mac.”

“I know. I just hate that we let her get away.” Mac commented.

“We didn’t _let_ her get away,” Desi corrected. “Chin up, Mac. All things considered, the mission was a success. We recovered Kiki before it could be unleashed onto the world.” _Still, Sylvia will only cause additional evil, maybe worse than Kiki. You tried to contain her, but that blew up in your face. Literally._  

Riley smiled at him reassuringly. “Yeah, things could have definitely been worse.” _They also could have been better._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading as always. Always nice to know that people actually read this (and hopefully like it). The next chapter will probably be a little heavier ED wise just FYI and an unhealthy use of alcohol (that is if I decided to put this chapter next. I'm thinking about doing a different one first and am still deciding which would drive the plot in the way I want it to). Well, enough of my rambling! xxx


	7. Habits (Stay High)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah, I’ve been around and seen it all,  
> I get home, I got the munchies, binge on all my twinkies  
> Throw up in the tub and then I go to sleep.”

**Sunny California: Where all the rituals begin**

Mac laid in bed, enjoying those fleeting moments of peace before the pressing duties of day would force him to leave the oasis that was his bed. He nestled into the warm covers, wishing to postpone the daily monotony for just a while longer. He needed time to breathe without any pressure on his chest, to live without anything to do. Sometimes, he wished he could stay in bed forever in the safe, thoughtless bleariness of barely being awake, just drowsy enough for the worries to seem distant.

Those few minutes Mac was in bed were the only conscious hours when his thoughts didn’t speed through his mind faster than he could process. Trying to keep up with his thoughts was like being put on a treadmill and told to run to the finish line.

Those quiet moments with only the noise of Bozer puttering around in the kitchen or birds humming outside were paradise. He breathed deeply, coffee wafting through the air, feeling a surge of energy from the scent alone. He relaxed against his pillow. **Just a few more moments. Then, I’ll be able to face the big, bad world. All I need is my brain to shut up for a few minutes more.**

The morning sun streamed through the slits in his blinds, warming his face. Many mornings, the sun bothered him with its cheeriness, but today, he didn’t mind because he didn’t have to go anywhere or do anything.  The sun was only unwelcome when there was an urgency to getting out of bed, when his alarm was blaring or phone buzzing with a call from the Phoenix Foundation. Today, things were quiet. Well, as quiet as they could be with Bozer in the house. 

Unfortunately, the peace couldn’t last forever. _You have to get out of bed._ **Just a few more minutes, please.** _You don’t have a few more minutes to waste. You have things to do. Get up._ **Fine.**

The second he stepped out of bed, the tranquil bubble sleep had created burst. The constant ache in his body and whir in his mind returned as he had to face the realities of his life. **This sucks.** Getting out of bed meant that the rituals began, along with the cycling thoughts and the self-hatred. **Hooray.**

Before he even had his first cup of coffee, Mac went to the bathroom, not making eye contact with himself in the mirror. **It’s too early to see myself. I’d rather pretend that guy doesn’t exist.**

 _Time to get on the scale, Boy Scout._ He took a deep breath. **Remember, it doesn’t mean anything.** _Actually, it tells you what you need to know._ Mac sighed, stepping on the scale. Weighing himself was a fairly new part of his morning ritual, and it was one that had started from mere curiosity.

It wasn’t that he cared what he weighed. **I don’t care about a silly number** , but he’d started keeping track of as many metrics as possible to assure himself that he wasn’t getting fat. He wondered, **Am I going to gain weight if I keep binging? The purging can’t possibly get it all out. I need to make sure I’m extra careful when I’m not binging to counteract when I do binge.** If he wasn’t careful, he realized, he would inevitably get fatter because even when purging went well, some calories would still be absorbed. That’s just how the body worked.

Mac looked down at the number, his stomach dropping like he was on a roller coaster. **But not in a fun way.** Since only the day before, he was up three pounds. **Oh no.** **I’m going to have to make some changes.** _That’s_ why his weight mattered. Such information could help him determine how he would behave in the future and how he would go about his day. Keeping a daily record was important because the more information he had, the less room for error. _Liar._

As much as Mac didn’t want to admit it, the number had become more than just data. Most days, what he saw on the scale upset him because the number was always defying expectation. Even if he tracked everything he consumed and all the calories he burned, his weight didn’t cooperate. It boggled him.  

If he measured all his intake and outtake, he should be able to hypothesize what the scale would say, but too often, the scale defied his science. It was a number beyond mathematical control, and accordingly, Mac was desperate to figure out how he could solve the mystery. What started as an experiment had become another one of his obsessions. Now, it was something he did every morning out of obligation rather than curiosity.

 **Weight shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t say how fit I am or even how fat I am. It naturally fluctuates. It shouldn’t concern me. It doesn’t matter.** _Yet, it does. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it does. It establishes how your whole day will go. If it’s down, you feel relieved because anything’s better than up, and if it’s up, you feel upset because one pound can too quickly become three, then ten, then one hundred. Your weight tells you whether your morning run should be one mile or three. It tells you how to eat. It guides your day so you don’t have to think about anything. You just let that scale tell you how to think and how to feel. It’s easiest that way. Today you’re fat, and this feeling you have will tell you how to react._

 **Today is a three mile day,** he decided. **I’ll have breakfast and then I’ll go on my run.** _Three pounds, Mac. Better skip breakfast and go straight on the run. Four miles should be enough. Remember, you need to get your weight under control before it controls you._ With that in mind, Mac downed a cup of coffee, got dressed, and went for a four mile run. **That should make me feel better, shouldn’t it?**

* * *

 

**Home again: Back to the grind**

Mac threw off his shoes at the door, knees weak and hands shaky. Exhausted, he plopped limply onto the couch. **I should eat something.** _You could barely make it to the couch let alone have the energy to make a meal. Besides, if you eat now, you’ll only binge. Wait it out until you feel less ravenous._

“Woah, man,” Bozer said, pausing his video game, “You okay?”

“Yeah, just finished a hard run.” Mac had pushed himself to run the four miles as quickly as possible. He was proud that he had completed it in record time.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be pushing yourself so hard. We already do that enough at work.”

“Exercise is a good stress reliever, Boze. Everybody loves endorphins.”

"Well, I can think of a million things more fun than running around,” he said as firmly as Wilt Bozer could muster. “Speaking of fun, why don’t we go out tonight and have a few drinks. Leanna will probably be up for it and I’m sure Riley and Desi will be too. Maybe even Matty will come along to make sure we don’t get into too much trouble. We could all benefit from blowing off some steam.”

“I don’t know if I’m up for it tonight. Maybe some other time.”

“Come on, I feel like I barely see you anymore other than at work. You’re always either working in the garage or locked away in your room. I know everything with your dad has been getting to you these past few months, but you can’t just isolate yourself. I’m worried about you, Mac.” _You can’t let him be worried. You have to act normal. Fix this. Suspicion is the last thing you want._

“You’re right,” Mac conceded. _That’s good. You don’t have to tell the truth. You just have to make Bozer believe you’re okay. Ease his worries._ “I have been distracted lately, and I’m sorry for being a shitty friend. If it really makes you happy, then we can go out tonight.”

“You’re not a shitty friend,” Bozer said gently. _He’s just saying that because he’s a good friend, unlike you. You’d rather spend your spare time puking in the garage._

***

**A Lively Bar: Mac’s too drunk for this**

Considering he had never gotten around to eating— **oops** — it hadn’t taken a lot of beer to make Mac buzzed. A blissful state had replaced his anxiety. **It feels good**. The alcohol surging through his system was acting as a shield, deflecting all the bad thoughts, slowing them down so that they moseyed rather than stomped.

Mac got up to get another drink, tripping over his own feet before regaining his composure. _Smooth._

“Mac, I didn’t know you were such a lightweight,” Desi said with a laugh and the bartended handed Mac his beer.

Matty, the sober minority of the group, was looking at Mac with scrutiny. That look never meant anything good. He could practically see her mind trying to piece things together. She was too intelligent to hide much, and he couldn’t let her figure out what he was doing. “He’s not,” Matty said making sharp eye contact. Mac looked away. He didn’t need Matty trying to dig around in his brain, coming to conclusions he didn’t want her to come to. _You have to be extra careful around Matty. She’s too good at figuring things out. They don’t call her Matty “the Hun” Webber for nothing._  

To Mac’s relief, she didn’t comment on whatever thoughts were running through her head. _But the fact that she’s thinking is a problem. If she thinks hard enough, she’s going to figure it out. Get the attention off your drunkenness. If Matty’s already wondering about you, the rest will follow with wondering soon._

“I’m hungry,” Mac blurted, and they all looked at him like he had three heads, but Riley still handed him a half-demolished basket of fries one of them, Mac couldn’t remember who, had ordered earlier in the evening. He began mindlessly nibbling on the fries, a food Mac hadn’t allowed himself to have in a while. He couldn’t control himself around chips and because French fries were chip adjacent, that meant that he couldn’t trust himself around fries either. He continued to eat. _This is exactly your problem, MacGyver. You were doing so well, but now you’re back to eating junk._ He took a big gulp of beer, hoping it would wash away that nasty voice in his head. _Nice try, loser. Can’t get rid of me that easily. Being drunk may make it easier to ignore me, but I’m still here. I’m always here._

The first fry had tasted so good that buy the third he was eating so hastily that he didn’t have time to taste the food.

“I guess he’s a hungry drunk,” Desi commented. _You’re a hungry human in general. Never satisfied. Always wanting more like the greedy pig you are._ He took another gulp of beer.

“Woah, slow down, Mac.” Riley said, and he wasn’t sure whether she was referring to the beer or the fries, but either way, Mac’s inner disaster was shining through, and he found it hard to care. _You should care. She’s going to see what an out of control slob you are. They all will. Do you really want them knowing that Angus MacGyver can’t even fix his own little problems? That he supposedly can save the world from nuclear disaster but can’t even eat like a normal human? I’m sure they’d find that pathetic._

“I don’t know how to take it slow. For me, it’s always go, go, go,” he muttered, mostly to himself. No one seemed to know quite how to respond. He ate a few more fries until they were all gone, finishing his beer along the way. He hadn’t even noticed that he was on the last fry so the fact that there were none left surprised him. The empty basket caused a pang in his stomach as he conflated it with all the wrappers and garbage that surrounded him after a binge. The situations were so different, but for some reason, they felt the same.

It hadn’t been that much food, but the fact that he had eaten it so thoughtlessly scared him. _How can a person not notice that he’s eating? You could’ve eaten a whole horse before realizing what you were doing. You moron, you fool, you doofus._

Most of all, he regretted the fullness in his stomach that he’d worked all day to keep empty. He imagined the French fries swimming in beer and stomach acid, and he imagined the fries still being in his stomach when he got home, urging him to give them the company of the couple day old sub in his fridge and some leftover brownies he’d picked up before his last binge. He couldn’t let that happen.

_You can fix this, Mac. Just get rid of it. Might as well just make it easy on yourself and do it now that you have alcohol in your system._

He stood up from his stool. Trying (and failing) to stay calm he said, “I need to go to the bathroom,” and then, Mac went to the bathroom, having his first experience purging in a public bathroom. _How undignified. If only you could have controlled yourself in the first place._

 **I’ve reached a new low,** he thought when he had finished, _but you saved yourself from the binge. You’re safe now._ **I can’t save myself from the binge,** he thought grimly. **All I can do is postpone it, shoving away the ravenous beast that wants to attack.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a little, but I'm back. Had some trouble with the chapter, but I thought it was important to show the development of Mac's ED and how his thinking isn't always consistent and some days are easier for him than others because they are very accurate to EDs because mental illnesses obviously aren't driven by logic. So, I wanted to show how his feelings build to the point that even little things adding up over the day can set him off and make him do the ED behaviors. He's also starting to get more used to the ED being an important part of his life, but it's going to be something that he has to hide. Anyways, enough chatter from me. Love you all. Thanks as always for reading. I hope to have the next chapter out soon xxx


	8. Noise Pollution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So down, is there no hope?  
> I can't believe in no one”

**The Phoenix Foundation: The place where headaches are made**

The noise was too much as Mac tried to do his work. A phone went off, _Briinnnng briinnnng brinn—_ and Mac couldn’t get his head or ears to shut off. He felt untethered, his mind shooting off in several directions at once. There was no peace in his mind, and to make matters worse, his blood sugar was too low for his brain to operate at full functionality so it was firing thoughts in quick secession with little fruitfulness, a fog clouding all sense. _Grrrowwlll_ , his stomach protested. He hadn’t eaten since the afternoon before, which logically, he knew was a mistake, but mentally, kept some of his anxiety away. The longer he went without eating, though, the more fear began to settle in his stomach at the thought of breaking his fast.

  **I’m hungry.** _Unfortunate._ **I should get some food or else I won’t be able to focus.** _You’re too hungry to eat right now._ **That doesn’t make any sense.** _It does because if you eat now, you’ll binge, and if you binge, you’ll purge. Purging hurts, it’s a lot of work, and it’s bad for you. You must avoid it at all costs._ **But I want food. I need it to live.** _Sorry, you can’t be trusted with food. You’ve been doing so well. Don’t mess up now, Mac._ **I have to eat.** _Not right now. Wait until you’re not so hungry._ **I’m only going to get hungrier.** _Just wait a while longer. You’ll get used to the hunger. Listen to me. Don’t question me._

 _Click clack, click clack, click clack,_ went half a dozen keyboards. Pages flipped, the friction as the pages dragged against one another _swish_ and then sound when the flipping motion was complete _crahkol.  Swish crahkol._

Mac had been doing well. He’d been binge/purge free for just over a week, but with each moment he resisted binging, his ability to focus seemed to decrease. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could suppress the monster because it felt like if he ever wanted to get his mind back to top functionality that he would have to put himself through the emotional upheaval of stuffing his face with food and then puking it back up. **Why am I like this?** _Swish crahkol. Click, clack. Briinnnng briinnnng brinn—_

A couple agents chattered distantly, and Mac wished they would shut up so that he could at least get something done. _Clink_ , a spoon hit the side of a mug as another agent stirred. _Briinnnng briinnnng brinn—_ Someone began speaking in Russian. The phone going off so much meant there was some crisis. Working at the Phoenix had taught Mac that there was always a crisis somewhere. Luckily, not all disasters were his problem. _Swish crahkol._

Mac was trying to read some report about a conflict in Liberia, but the letters and words weren’t translating into any sensible sentences and though he was ten pages in, he felt just as lost as he had when he’d started reading. _Click, clack._ **I’m miserable.** _Really? What’s more fun than not being able to function?_ He needed to focus, but all he could think of was chips, ice cream, and pizza. _Chips, ice cream, pizza. Click clack._

The copier whirred as the sounds blurred with the words Mac was trying to understand, _Cha cha chaaaa cha cha chaaaa cha cha sraaaa blik. Liberian militia. Cha cha chaaaa cha cha chaaaa cha cha sraaaa blik. Chips, ice cream, pizza. Click clack. Swish crahkol. Food, hungry, Liberian militia. Clink._

The seconds seemed so slow as Mac’s stomach growled in anticipation. _Chips, ice cream, pizza, rice, fries, burgers, anything! You’re desperate because you’re not in control._  

  **I just need lunch. Then, I’ll be able to focus.** _If you eat lunch, you might not stop. Can you really trust yourself to stay in control?_ **Coffee it is** , he thought, standing up to grab a cup of coffee before making his way back to his report. The coffee didn’t work. Mac’s attention was all over the place, _boink,_ a bouncy ball bopping around the room. _Boink, boink, boink is better than the piggy’s oink, oink, oink. Cha cha chaaaa cha cha chaaaa cha cha sraaaa blik. Briinnnng briinnnng brinn— Swish crahkol._

Desi was busy clanging at her keyboard. _Click clack, click clack, click clack_. _Cha cha chaaaa cha cha chaaaa cha cha sraaaa blik. Grrrowwlll_  

 _Slurp, chomp, chomp, chomp, slurp, chomp, slurp, chomp, chomp, chomp,_ he heard someone munching on soup and a sandwich, and the sounds filled him with unexplainable rage. How was he supposed to focus with such an obnoxious noise? The eating was the worst of them all. It bothered him to the point that he imagined himself slugging the rest of his coffee and hurling his empty mug at the wall. _Classic MacGyver, unable to control his own emotions. Always letting those silly things called feelings get the best of you. No wonder you’re a stupid, incompetent idiot._

It was all so repetitive! That’s what drove Mac so crazy, the constant stimuli that never had an end. Mac never got a break, a chance to catch his breath from all the chaos that constantly surrounded him. He was always running towards an answer, which only ever created more questions. Life never provided finality.

Chaos was a state of mind, which Mac was becoming used to because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to reel it in. It was hopeless, he often felt. **Will I ever feel better or will life always be trying to endure problem after problem only for myriads of problems to wait upon the horizon. Is the turmoil in my brain just an inevitable part of myself? Should I give up trying to make things better? Should I just give into the chaos, let it sweep me away? Should I risk letting out the hungry monster inside of me?** _If you do that, you’ll unleash something worse than chaos, Mac. Just wait it out. It takes time to get things in order, time and patience. Resist those dark urges and you’ll be able to tame the chaos. A little self-discipline can go a long way._

 _Slurp, chomp, chomp, chomp_. _Hungry. Grrrowwlll. Food. Oink. Swish crahkol._ _Liberia. Distracted Idiot. Click clack. Cha cha chaaaa cha cha chaaaa cha cha sraaaa blik. Clink. Briinnnng briinnnng brinn— Boink._ His head was pounding, a throbbing pain in his temples and behind his eyes. _Slurp, chomp, chomp, chomp_. _Hungry. Grrrowwlll. Food. Oink. Swish crahkol._ _Liberia. Distracted Idiot. Click clack. Cha cha chaaaa cha cha chaaaa cha cha sraaaa blik. Clink. Briinnnng briinnnng brinn— Boink._

He put his head in his hands, deciding that he wasn’t going to get any work done. He looked at the time 12:30. **That early? When will this horrible day end?** He closed his eyes, wishing he could blink the day away. “Mac,” a voice said, but he couldn’t distinguish it from all the other sounds in the room. He felt a hand on his shoulder. His eyes snapped open to see Bozer’s gentle brown eyes, “Mac, man, are you okay?”

"Yeah, my head just needed a little break,” he said because saying, “I’m losing my mind, and I want to eat a bunch of food and puke it up” would have set off some red flags, which Mac was not interested in doing. He was too embarrassed about his secret life to do anything that risked it getting out. Admitting he had a problem, even to himself, was not an option.

“You definitely need to get out of this building. Besides, you look like you’ve lost weight with all this burning the candle at both ends you’ve been doing. You need to eat. Come on, we’re going to that place you love on Front Street.” _No, not Greenland’s, you love Greenland’s too much to control yourself. Get out of this little trip. Don’t let them pressure you._

“I’m a little busy,” Mac protested. _Good boy. This is what’s best._

“You just said you were taking a break,” Bozer countered. **Maybe I should just go.** _You can’t! You’ll binge and ruin your entire day. Don’t risk it. Be good._

“A little break, not a whole lunch break.  Besides, I’m not hungry.” _Liar, but I approve. Some lies are good for the soul._ **Not when they’re to your best friend.** _You’re just doing what you have to do to stay on track. It’s called self-care, Boy Scout. You don’t want to get fat. Imagine, a fatty named Angus MacGyver. How humiliating._

“Mac, please. You can’t work yourself to the bone. I won’t drag you away for long, but you’ll go crazy if you don’t get out of here. Don’t neglect yourself in your attempts to save the world.” _The sad part is that you’ve been failing at your job. You’ve only been making the world worse._ **That’s not true.** _Isn’t it? You’ve been on this same report all morning and haven’t figured out what it is even about. You’re too broken to save the world. Everyone thinks you’re some hotshot smarty pants, but you’re really just an idiot playing genius. What will happen when they realize you’re just an imposter? How will your friends feel when they discover that you’re not worth their time? Do you think they’ll be begging you to go to lunch then? Probably not, but that would probably be for the best. I can’t wait until they abandon you, you stupid fat ass._

“I’m sorry. I can’t. I’ve been stuck on this report all morning, and I need to get it done.”

“All the more reason you should go out with us. You need to step back and then come back to it with fresh eyes.” **He has a point.** _This won’t end well, Mac._

Mac sighed. _Don’t do it. You need to avoid going at all costs. Stay strong._ But in a wave of rebellion, he said, “Fine.” 

* * *

 

**Greenland’s: Too much food to chose from**

Mac was scrunched in a booth across from Bozer and next to Riley, trying to scour his menu for something that wouldn’t ruin everything. His two friends were being unusually quiet, contemplative expressions on their faces. It never meant anything good when he was the subject of that gaze. _They’re on to you. They’re going to figure out that you’re not the normal, well-adjusted person you try to pass yourself off as._ “You two are acting weird,” Mac said casually despite the worry that his mind was conjuring the more Riley and Bozer stared at him with those silent expressions. **Something is wrong, and I can’t figure out what.** _There’s a lot wrong, and it all has to do with you. You’re always the problem, Mac._  

“We miss you, Mac,” Riley said. “It feels like we haven’t seen you in a long time.” 

“We work in the same building. You see me all the time.” Mac kept his eyes diverted on the menu, not having the capacity to decide what to eat and engage in serious conversation. He wasn’t sure what he could eat. Nothing felt right. A sandwich seemed dangerous, but if he ordered a salad, his friends might think it was weird since in all the years they had known him, he’d never chosen a salad. Eating nothing was the least stressful choice, but while the salad would seem weird, simply eating nothing would basically confirm that something was wrong. _You’re screwed. You’ve gotten yourself into this mess, and I’m not going to try to get you out._  

Mac looked up realizing that Bozer had spoken and he hadn’t heard a single word. “What?” 

Bozer and Riley shared a look. _Great, they probably think you’re a lunatic._ “What Bozer was saying is that you’ve been acting a little distant lately.” _Guess you proved that point pretty well._  

Mac shrugged. “Work’s been busy and with all that’s happening with my dad, I haven’t had a lot of extra time. It’s nothing personal.”

“We’re not taking it personally,” Bozer said. “We just want to make sure you’re okay.” Anxiety began gnawing at Mac’s gut, feuding with hunger and stubbornness.

“I’m great,” **My life is falling apart, but yeah, I’m great. Handling everything just fine. I haven’t made myself vomit for over a week. How talented and perfectly great am I?** He continued, “A little too busy for a lunch break, but other than that, all is good. I’m here now so might as well make the best of it.” But he wasn’t great, far from it. He was hungry and the monster he had kept at bay for a week was awakening. His attention went back to the menu.

 **Just eat normally. I don’t have to binge or starve. I can just act like a normal person and never worry about food again.** _If only it were that simple, but restaurants cater to fat America. They feed you more in one meal than is needed for a whole day. 700 calories? Come on, Mac, you don’t need that. Everything on this menu is too many calories. It’s dangerous. If you eat, you’re just going to end up binging. You have no self-control in scenarios like this. Soon enough, your muscle will disappear under heaps of fat, and you’ll be so big that you’ll hate yourself. You’ll be unable to do your job, and your friends will be disgusted to know you. Let this binging continue and you may ruin your life._

“You don’t seem great. Seriously, buddy, we should talk about what’s going on with you because even in the field you seem to be spacing out when you need to be focused. Mac, one of these days it could be a matter between life and death.” **What to get?** _What to get?_ **I don’t care about what happens to me in the field. I just want to get through this meal.**

 **Soup? Maybe soup will do. It isn’t too bad. Lots of water in it. That’s good, isn’t it?** _Yes, that could be good._ **Broccoli cheddar? That’s my favorite.** _No, that’s an awful choice. Creamy soup is bad. It’s fatty and will destroy you._ **Okay, I can rule that out. If I get chicken noodle, that won’t be too bad.** _No, not too bad calorie wise, but what if they pack it with sodium or what if they use too many noodles, making it too carb loaded. Also, it comes with bread, which is bad, but maybe you can substitute a salad— no dressing, no cheese._ **Will that look suspicious?** _There’s nothing suspicious about being healthy. If they ask, just say that with your dad’s sickness, you’ve decided you should take better care of your body. Easy-peasy._

“Boze is right. You’re work hasn’t been up to usual MacGyver standards lately and to solve it, we have to get to the heart of it.” _See? You’re a failure who can’t live up to expectations. You’re falling apart because you spend all your time stuffing your face and puking it back up. You’re distracted because you let food become more important to you than your own safety. Food is poison to your mind._

“Can we talk about this shit later? I’m trying to decide what I want to eat, which I can’t do with your yammering. I’ve tried to explain to you that I’m fine, but you clearly don’t believe me, so I don’t see why you’re still talking” Mac snapped and immediately wished he could take it all back. _You’re such an idiot. You can’t even control your own mouth. You’re a terrible friend and no amount of apologizing can fix that. You’re just lucky that Bozer and Riley seem to love you despite your horrid personality._ **I’m an awful person.** “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

Riley looked startled but spoke calmly, “It’s okay, Mac.” _It’s not. You’re the worst friend. Because you can’t act like a functional human being. You’re a pathetic excuse for a human._  

“Yeah, dude, we can talk about this some other time. Let’s just start by having some lunch.” Bozer managed a smile, “Clearly, you’re hangry.”

Unfortunately, lunch ended up in a toilet at the Phoenix foundation. **I was doing so well, and all it took was one mildly stressful lunch to bring all the shit back up, which only made things worse.** He’d figured that if he puked right after his meal that it would be like cancelling out the meal altogether and that it would stop him from binging because if he had an empty stomach, there was no point in making it full. **My logic is so dumb.** Yet, he’d used that reasoning to justify his puking because it gave him some sort of release that he couldn’t quite describe to even himself. When he purged, all those negative feelings spewed out with the food and stayed away for a few peaceful moments of post-purge relief that quickly started up again in a never ending cycle of eating, starving, and puking.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to get this out sooner, but a family member died so I didn't have the chance. It helped to get back into writing though. Hoped you liked this. Hope to have a new chapter pretty soon, but my schedule's pretty packed this week. Hope you're all doing well. Feel free to comment if you'd like xxx


	9. The Glass Parade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just a voice inside your head  
> Whispering ‘all the hope is dead’  
> All the times you had to prove  
> That no one really loves you.”

**The War Room: Trying to get through the debriefing**

They’d just gotten back from a mission in Azerbaijan where Mac, long story short, had to make a pully system out of a fishing rod, a bicycle, and an empty beer bottle to defeat a surly group of militants.

The whole team was exhausted, but they still had plans to head over to Mac’s house after the debriefing and have pizza and beers, the former of which Mac wanted far away but couldn’t find a reasonable excuse to veto without looking like a pizza-hating lunatic. He just wanted to go home and sleep off the urge to binge, but his friends— his family, really— were already suspicious, and he had to act as normal as possible if he wanted to keep his demons locked away.

“Great work, team,” Matty said, finishing her spiel. “See you in a little while.” She turned to Mac. “Mac, do you have a minute.” It was a demand more than a question. **This looks serious. Great, just what I need.**

“Yeah, sure.” Mac nodded, standing from his seat so that he was closer to her. The others, while clearly curious, gave them privacy. “What’s the matter, Boss?” He sat down on the arm of a chair.

“You had a close call tonight.” He’d nearly had his hand cut off by a crazy guy with a machete, but Desi had caught the guy before anything had happened.   _Barely. A millisecond later and you would have been handless. All because you weren’t being careful. You let yourself get so absorbed in your own head that you can’t use common sense. Now, because you couldn’t do your job right, Matty is worried, and worry only means she’ll be looking at you more closely. All those lies you tell won’t hold up when she’s looking for them._

“That’s why I have Desi to watch my back,” Mac countered, trying to salvage the situation.

“Yes, and I am glad she’s so competent, but my field agents need to be able to look after themselves.” _Ha. She thinks you can’t take care of yourself._ **I can.** _Apparently not. You’re useless. You impress everyone with your little tricks, but did you ever stop to think that someday someone might see that you can’t even MacGyver your own broken life back together. You’re a fraud, pretending like you’re a useful member of the team._

“I think I’ve proved many times that I can handle myself.”

“You have most of the time. The issue here isn’t competency, though. What I’m concerned about is you being distracted. If you can’t stay focused, then you’re a liability.” _See? Matty sees it. She knows you’re not worth it. That you’re just a giant waste of space._ **No, that can’t be true.** _You’re blind if you can’t see it, Boy Scout._

Mac stood to his full height, alarmed. “A liability? Are you kidding me? I do a lot for this team. My methods may not be conventional, but I get stuff done.” _Face it, Mac. You’re not good enough anymore. Maybe you never were._

Matty’s voice softened, “Mac, I don’t mean to imply that you’re not valuable. Of course, you are. You know that this organization— that I— prize your skill set and aptitude for getting out of sticky situations, but in this field, sometimes, you just need to take a break, so you can get your head back to being where it needs to be. It’s dangerous if operatives have their minds in a million different places.”

“My head is exactly where it should be, Matty.”

“Maybe, but I need to be sure. There’s too much at stake not to be 100% positive”

“You’re not benching me, are you? Come on, I don’t need that. We both know the Phoenix is better with me in the field than just sitting around twiddling my thumbs. You don’t want me hanging around here, taking apart all the appliances in the break room.”

“I know that wouldn’t be ideal for anyone, Mac, which is why, at least for now, I’m going to keep you in the field.”

“Great. I guess that means I can go now?”

“Not so fast. I have some stipulations.”

“Stipulations?”

“I want you to see a psychologist.”

Mac laughed and then realized she wasn’t kidding. _She thinks you’re crazy._ **I’m not.** _Are you sure? Having long conversations with yourself seems pretty crazy to me._ “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I’m not saying there is, but it’s good to have someone to talk to with high stress jobs like this, especially with everything that’s happened. I know James’ cancer and the threats against him as well as the incident with Bozer have all gotten to you. You have a lot on your mind, which doesn’t mean there’s something wrong, but since it appears to be interfering with your work, it’s something we need to address.”

“I won’t be able to talk about much. Most of it’s classified.”

“Luckily, our in house psychological team has clearance, Blondie. So, you can tell your new therapist whatever you want, and she’ll take it to her grave. Don’t worry, she won’t report back to me other than to verify that you’ve been showing up every Wednesday so long as you’re not out of the country.”

“For how long?”

“As long as Dr. Joss sees fit.”

Mac crossed his arms. “None of this is necessary.”

“It is if you want to stay in the field. I don’t want to force this on you, but my first priority is the safety and well-being of this team. Just show up, Mac. All you have to do is talk for an hour, and if you want to spend that whole time talking about how unfair I’m being then so be it.”

“Matty, please.”

“Mac, you’ve done psychological evals before. It’s not different now.”

“Everyone has to do those, but this one is just about me.” _Because you’re a freak, an idiotic freak who can’t even manage to act normal for even a few days._

“If, or should I say when, the other team members are struggling, I will make sure they get the help they need as well, but currently, they’re not the ones having a difficult time. Right now, I’m worried about you. So, will you relieve my worries and talk to the doctor?”

“I don’t have much of a choice. So, fine. I’ll go see her.”

“Good. I know you’re upset, but I’m doing what needs to be done. You’re free to go now.” As he was leaving she asked, “Would you prefer if I skip pizza night tonight?” While annoyed with her, the consideration softened Mac a little. It was something Mac had long craved, that feeling of someone putting his feelings first. It meant something that Matty cared enough to forgo the post-op festivities because she cared about Mac’s feelings. _As silly as they are._ **At least she cares enough to do something, even if she knows I’ll be angry.** _Or maybe she just doesn’t want you messing up in the field. It’s about self-preservation for her. She doesn’t want some looney agent to sully her reputation. You can’t let her off the hook for treating you like a child who can’t make his decisions._

Mac tried to keep his tone harsh, even if his anger had cooled to a generalized annoyance at the situation rather than at Matty herself. “If you don’t show up, the others will think that something is up, so I guess you better come.”

“Okay, I’ll see you there.”

* * *

 

**Mac’s House: Pizza with a side of distress**

Just the sight of the ooey gooey pizza made Mac’s stomach turn. Since his talk with Matty, his mood had soured, acid tumbling in his stomach like clogs thrown in an empty dryer, which made the pizza more intimidating and more tempting. It would feel so good to let go and eat the pizza, letting it soothe his riotous stomach, but eating in such a state of mind would basically be asking for a binge.  He worried the sight alone would make him go mad. The cheese pulling as slices were taken from the box, the circles of pepperoni curled and crispy around the edges from being baked, and the sheer aroma all made Mac’s brain go haywire. **I want that. All of it. Every single piece.** _You can’t have any, fat ass. Matty already thinks you’re insane. She’ll see you’re next level crazy if you binge in front of her, and trust me, if you eat that pizza, there will be no stopping the hunger. It will consume you, and then, you will consume all the food you can find_.

He sipped his beer, gazing at the city lights surrounding him, little pin pricks of brightness in the cloak of the Los Angeles Night. “Mac, you better get a slice before they’re all gone,” Riley said, a lightness lingering in her voice from a joke Bozer had just told.

Mac waved her off. “I’m fine.” _Good boy._

“Come on, you haven’t eaten in hours,” Riley replied, knowing how Mac could get. Only a couple weeks into knowing him had she learned that Mac got in these states, trances almost, where he was so deep into his thoughts that he forgot to attend to his basic needs such as hunger and rest. He would chug coffee, acting as though he was fine while not even realizing the harm he was doing to himself. He always want to go, go, go, never wanting to waste time on things as ordinary as food or sleep.

 **What am I going to do? It’s one thing for Riley to think that I’m just absentminded but another if she thinks I’m purposely avoiding eating. I need to eat something.** _You’re trying to talk yourself into eating it, making it seem like the right thing to do. This is always what gets you, all that rationalizing._ **Keeping my secret is my top priority. If someone finds out what I’ve been doing, I’m in trouble. There will be no way to avoid eating then.** _So, fine. Eat it. You win, MacGyver. Have a piece of pizza like a grubby pig but don’t keep it in, congealing in your stomach and making you fat._

Mac nodded, pretending as though he only just realized that he was hungry. “Yeah, you’re right, Riles. Now that I think of it, I am kind of hungry.” He acted nonchalant as he put a piece of greasy pizza onto a plate, but inside he was freaking out. _You couldn’t at least eat something healthy? This is bad for you. Mac, this will ruin everything._ **It’s just a piece of pizza. I need to calm down.** _It’s never just a piece of pizza._

He took a bite. **See? I can be normal. Just one bite at a time.** _Yeah, sure, normal. Tell that to the shrink Matty is making you see._ With as little fuss as possible, he finished his piece, debating whether he should have a second. **Who just has one piece of pizza?** _You already talked yourself into one. You can’t afford to talk yourself into another. Do you know how many calories you consumed in the thirty seconds it took you to eat that. You’ve got to get rid of the first piece before you even consider a second._ **I might as well have a second piece. It has been hours since I’ve eaten, and I had a busy day.** _No, no, no. Don’t you see? You’re heading into dangerous territory. You need to go puke._ **How am I going to do that with everyone here?** _Do you want to be fat and unhappy?_ **No.** _Then find an excuse. Go, right now. Get things back on track before you lose all control._ He needed to get rid of the pizza, he decided, before he was tempted into eating anything else.

He feigned someone calling him, pulled his phone from his ear, and said, “I’ll be right back. I have to take this.” He went to his room, as far from the deck as he could manage, and rid his body of the pizza quickly and efficiently.

“Sorry about that,” he said when he had returned.

“Something wrong?” Matty asked, her eyes narrowing. _She won’t really let up today, will she. Be extra careful around her._ “Your eyes look a little red.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Mac said lamely. To explain the red eyes, he pointed to his face. “Tears of laughter. I was chatting with an old friend from MIT. We were talking about how I nearly blew up the residence hall. Funny story.”

Bozer laughed at the thought. “You never told me about that one.”

Mac forced a smile, clapping Bozer’s shoulder. “Buddy, that’s a story for another day.” One that Mac would have to make up if his friends ever inquired about it again. Although, given all the times he’s nearly blown stuff up or actually blown stuff up, it wouldn’t be that hard to fabricate something believable. Mac could tell them he’d made an explosive device out of crayons and a piece of printer paper and even then, they probably wouldn’t doubt it. **Crayons and printer paper** , Mac thought, **that’s a thought. Somehow, I’m sure I could make them go boom.** _Slow your roll. You have better things to worry about then how to make an explosive device with the things-to-keep-a-kid-occupied starter kit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope you enjoyed this. Finally have my life back from a chaotic state and all is on track now (yay!). Hopefully, that will give me more time to write stronger chapters in the upcoming chapters. I love writing about how the ED puts pressures on Mac's relationships and how people see something is wrong, even though at this point they don't suspect it is food related because they are used to Mac being like that and neglecting his own needs and whatnot. Next chapter is going to introduce Mac's psychologist and spoiler... don't expect him to open up... I don't think that's too much of a shocker given that Mac, while he knows what he's doing is messed up, hasn't accepted that what he's been doing is a problem. Stick around to see how it all plays out! I'm looking forward to this next chapter. Psychological games will be played ;). Enough rambling from me (my specialty), as usual, feel free to leave your thoughts xxx


	10. They Know My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “These wars that I fight from within  
> I don’t where they end and I begin  
> I try, I try to calm them down  
> But these thoughts they keep spinning  
> Round and round, round and round.”

**Phoenix Psychological Annex: Attempting to not seem crazy**

Dr. Heidi Joss looked at Mac with an expression that felt kinder than humanly possible. Just looking at her he could tell that she had her life together. _Some people have it all. Unfortunately, you’re not one of them. Everything in your life is falling apart but you can’t seem to do anything about it. How hard is it to be like this woman? How hard is it to just act normal and be a half-decent person?_

Professional and good-natured, Dr. Joss had a cool but inviting appearance. Her brown skin glowed under the mid-afternoon sun and her eyes gleamed with a mix of curiosity and helpfulness. Her figure was well-maintained, and her outfit was coordinated down to the silver necklace that fell just right on her white button up shirt. Even her books were placed neatly on shelves, sorted by subject, showing that her brain was likely just as polished as the rest of her. _Great, Matty’s sent you to some super happy, super perfect extraterrestrial who’s too good to be human. How are you supposed to tell your problems to a woman who looks like she eats sunshine for breakfast?_

Mac sat in a brown leather chair that reminded him of the furniture set he had in his own house, but this chair felt stiffer. While Mac’s furniture was well-used, both for sitting and various experiments, this chair was too new, not having been used enough for the cushions to sag under the weight of butts, backs, and feet, which, as Mac imagined his mother might have said, “belonged on the floor not the furniture. 

The walls were too white, what some people may call “eggshell” to make the color seem less sterile, not that cream, ivory, or pearl or any other nicely named hue of white would have been any better. Mac wondered how many agents had gone crazy looking at those walls, preferring the not-even-cream whiteness to the brown eyes of the petite, peppy psychologist. _Better to look at the walls then let your walls be torn down._

She smiled cordially. “How are you, Angus?” Her voice was surprisingly low, a soothing alto.

“I’m fine,” he replied tightly, “And please call me Mac. I hate being called Angus.” She jotted something down on her notepad, which made a burst of rage surge through Mac. _She’s already starting to dissect you like you’re an experiment. You can’t let her see what you don’t want to be seen. Play games if you have to, but keep her mind diverted from the truth._

“Okay, Mac. I can do that. Is there anything specific you want to talk about today?” _She’s so accommodating. You can’t trust accommodating._ **She’s just being professional.** _Don’t be naïve. Everyone has an agenda._ **Let’s not get paranoid.** _It’s not paranoia. Don’t be fooled, Angus. You know she didn’t always work as a therapist. If she has a job here, that means she was once an agent. Probably did a lot of interrogations. She is not your friend, but she is well versed in how to make it seem like she is._

“I don’t have much to say. Really, I’m doing great, better than I ever was.” _Careful, don’t make yourself sound too well-adjusted._

“If that’s the case, then we can talk about all the things that are going great. Therapy doesn’t have to be about what’s going wrong.” 

“I didn’t say the things around me were going great. I said _I’m_ doing great. There’s a difference.” Mac wasn’t above playing semantic games with this woman. Maybe it was petty, but he didn’t like the way she treated him with that friendly smile and easy-going questions. **It’s as if she’s used to stubborn assholes who don’t think they have a problem.** _No need to be so sarcastic, Mac. Bitterness doesn’t look good on you… not much does._  

“Okay,” she said evenly, “Then do you want to talk about those things that aren’t so great.” 

“It’s nothing serious.” **Liar.**  

“Maybe you don’t consider your problems as serious but that doesn’t mean they’re not worth our time.” _You don’t deserve time— hers or your own. You’re a waste of seconds, minutes, hours. You’ve already wasted weeks, months, years._

  
“Everyone always wants to make a big deal out of things,” Mac said firmly. “We all have obstacles. That’s life, a bunch of shitty obstacles that lead to more shitty obstacles. Not much can be done about it. Talking sure won’t help. Luckily, it’s all a game to me. It’s fun having to piece random things together to make something useful. In fact, my best skill is getting out of bad situations. I’m almost as good at getting out of trouble as I am getting into it,” he added with a charming smile. A vein in Mac’s neck twitched as he watched her jot another note. _See? She’s taking your words, and she’s going to twist them into some diagnosis that doesn’t even fit you. She’ll tell you lots of things are wrong with you: that you have a disregard for self-preservation or abandonment issues, but she doesn’t know anything. She’ll never understand you._

“Do you always blame yourself when things go wrong in your life?”

“That was a joke. This is the problem with therapy. You shrinks always have to read into things that aren’t that significant. Not everything has to be so complex. Not everything I say is an onion that you have to peel back the layers of.” 

“Jokes often come from a place of insecurity, nothing complex about it.”

Mac laughed mirthlessly. “Me? Insecure? You clearly don’t know me very well, Dr. Joss. I’m not insecure. I just try not to be an arrogant asshole.”

“It seems you’re feeling defensive.”

“I don’t want to be here, sure, but I have no reason to be defensive.”

“Sometimes, people can be very hesitant to even consider therapy because they feel as though seeing a therapist is admitting that there is something wrong with them, but therapy is about learning to cope and understand your feelings more than it is about diagnosing something as being wrong.” **But there is something wrong. That’s what I’m afraid of.** _You’re fine. Stop being a whiny baby and just suck it up. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just an idiot who doesn’t listen to sense and doesn’t have any self-control. There’s no diagnosis for what you are. You’re just a stupid, stubborn sonofabitch._  

Mac shook his head, standing from the chair. “This is stupid.”

“Please, sit back down. Just finish up the hour, so I can tell Matty that you’ve been complying.” _She’s got you there. Like it or not, you’re stuck here with her until she says you can go._

He sat. “Fine, but I’m not in the mood for talking.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything if that’s what you choose. I’m not here to force you to talk if you don’t want, but of course, I’d like it when you feel ready. You can wait out the clock if that’s what you feel comfortable doing. Talking can be useful but so can just relaxing for a while without feeling as though you have to do anything. I’m sure your job can be very mentally and physically tiring so it’s okay if you use this time as a break.”

For the rest of the session, Mac didn’t say anything for the rest, staring at those awful eggshell walls. **Yup,** he confirmed, **stare at them long enough and they’ll drive you crazy.**  The silence, he realized, was the last thing he wanted. It was agonizing to be stuck with his thoughts and nothing to distract from the cyclical debates constantly unfolding in his head. He imagined Dr. Joss’s judgement: _she probably thinks you’re crazy, rude, and a generally bad person._ **She’s a psychologist. I’m sure she’s understanding.** _Or she sees right through you for the dysfunctional bastard you are._ He planned lunch: **maybe I’ll just have something small.** _Or maybe you should have nothing. You binged last night and can’t afford to go down that path again. Your throat is already sore as it is._  He even pondered his pitiful existence: **this was an unsuccessful session if ever there was one.** _You can’t even last an hour without losing your cool._ With all these thoughts, it was a relief when Dr. Joss told him his time was up.

Maybe he wasn’t a model patient and maybe he had initiated the silence, but after snide remarks and hostility throughout the session, he didn’t want to leave without a word. **I acted like an asshole, sure, but I want her to know that I’m not like that all the time.** He gave Dr. Joss a friendly goodbye, telling her to have a nice day, and in a fit of remorse, he turned to her as he went through the door. “By the way, I’m sorry for being such a terrible patient,” he said as a peace offering. 

She grinned a little, “Trust me, in a building full of agents who don’t want to talk to me, you’re far from the worst I’ve had. I know some days you won’t want to talk, Mac, but I hope if there ever comes a day when you need to talk, that you’ll feel ready to share some of your thoughts with me.”

 _Yeah, right. That’s never going to happen._ While Mac had no intention of having any meaningful conversation with her, he muttered “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” for the sake of politeness. **She really wasn’t that bad,** he thought. _Don’t get too comfortable. She’s nice now that she doesn’t know how fucked up you are. She probably thinks the extent of your problems are a few daddy issues, but she won’t be so casual if she finds out that you belong in an institution._ Maybe next session Mac would talk, but he was only going to give her enough to feel as though she was getting somewhere. That way, she could call him cured, and they could discontinue their meetings. _Let her scratch the surface, but never open the door._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter isn't too long, but this chapter basically wrote itself, so I figured I might as well just send it out into the world. Hope you liked it. Mac shall continue to struggle for a while yet (sorry Mac). I'm ready for things to completely fall apart for Mac so that they can get better, but I must pace myself because there is a lot left to happen. Hope you liked it! Next chapter shows Mac lying to the people in his life and denying the truth about his condition. Thanks for reading. Should be back soon with another chapter xxx


	11. Little Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies  
> (Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies).”

Little white lies, they don’t harm anybody, right? There’s nothing wrong with stretching the truth to preserve an easy environment, a comfortable illusion of reality that makes the direst of situations seem a little better. Everyone lies. Sometimes, it’s rude _not_ to lie. When someone asks if they look okay, more often than not, they want validation for their wavering confidence rather than an actual opinion.

People like lies so long as they don’t know they’re being deceived, and sometimes, they like them even when aware of the deception because truth is easier to handle when wrapped in lies. People lie to those they hate, those they love, and even to themselves, who they might love, hate, or love to hate. 

The truth is, lies are only ever evil when used for evil purposes. Lies, like Swiss Army knives, are sharp, multi-use tools that can MacGyver together things that ordinarily seem discordant. They have the power to be kind or cruel. Lies, most importantly, can build a reality detached from facts. They are born sweet little things, swaddled in good intentions, but some little white lies grow up to be big bad wolves. They consume a person, making him do things he never imagined he even could do. Too often, lies are the only way people can sleep with themselves at night because the naked truth would be too revealing.

 

* * *

 

**A Convention in Canada: Lie 1**

“I have a plan,” Mac said to Desi as they were locked in the basement of Canadian convention center that was hosting a maple syrup convention, which was actually just a cover for a ring of smugglers who’d been extorting and kidnapping American women to be drug mules.  The truth was, Mac didn’t have a plan. He was a little dizzy and having trouble thinking straight let alone coming up with a plan off the cuff. **I just need a little time. My brain may be slow, but something always comes to me.** _Until that one day when it doesn’t, and you get everyone killed. Think, Mac. Don’t let your idiocy get the people you love killed._

He and Desi had locked themselves in a small basement room to regroup while the big boss and his henchmen were pounding on the door, which Mac had reinforced as best as he could with the threadbare supplies he had found in the desolate room. The door wouldn’t hold up much longer. _Think, think, think. Get your stupid brain in check. You’re better than this. At least I hope you are._

Desi checked her gun clip to see how many bullets were left. “You better come up with something quick because I’m not going to be able to hold them with fire power.” **There’s nothing here. How can I make something out of nothing.** _Use your brain. There’s never nothing. You have yourself, and while you’re mostly useless, you’re a step above nothing._

“My watch!” Mac exclaimed, “I can use that, the protein bar in my pocket, some of these pipes, and your remaining bullets to make a small but effective blast if you can handle some hand to hand combat?”

Desi smiled. “I think I can handle kicking some ass. It’s been too long since I’ve had quality time with the bad guys. We’ve had it easy these last few weeks.” **Phew, crisis averted.** _Careful, Mac. Don’t be relieved until it actually works._

Luckily, they both made it out alive with only a few bumps and bruises for their efforts. Mac didn’t always have a plan when he said he had a plan, but he could fake it until he made it. That’s all he could do most days.

* * *

 

 

**Mac’s House: Lie 2**

“I already ate,” Mac answered when Riley came over one evening with takeout. _Why do your friends like takeout so much? Does no one like healthy meals?_

 "Come on, Mac. I brought way too much for just me and Bozer.”

“Leanna’s here too.”

“Even then it’s a lot.” _Don’t even think about it. Stay away from the food at all costs. You can’t afford to eat it, fatty. You gained a pound since yesterday and you don’t want to gain anymore. You need to keep yourself in check._  

“Maybe in a little bit,” he said more to get her to drop it then because of any intention to actually have any later.

Leanna and Bozer came out into the living room. “Riley! Thank god you’re here. I’m starving,” Leanna said, giving Riley a hug. Riley wasn’t much of a hugger, but she’d become used to Leanna, who, when you got to know her, was almost as affectionate as she was tough. 

Riley shot Mac a look, “At least someone is.” **I’m hungry too. I’m just a liar who won’t allow myself what I want.** _Shut up. Don’t even indulge the idea of eating that food. Do you know how many calories are in it? Sodium? Fat? There are few worse foods you could eat._

Bozer put a friendly arm around Mac’s shoulders. “Mac, be a kill joy. Smell the delicious aroma of…” **It does smell good.** _Don’t think of the smell. Don’t you dare think of the smell._

“Chinese food, Boze.”

“Chinese food, Mac!” Bozer echoed. “How can you pass that up?” _Not as easily as you’d like._

“Sorry, guys. If I knew Riley was bringing food, I wouldn’t have had dinner already.” 

“Surely, whatever you had couldn’t have been as good as Chinese food.” No, the cup of coffee he had made had not been as good as Chinese food, but at least it was something that he wouldn’t have to bring up from his stomach. 

“It wasn’t.” _Silly, MacGyver. **Nothing** is the most delicious food there is. _

“Well,” Riley said, “There’s plenty of food here if you find some extra room in your stomach.” _There’s always extra room, but that doesn’t mean you should fill it._

Mac plopped down on the couch “Yeah, thanks.” He watched as the others helped themselves to massive helpings of food and willed his stomach not to growl. _You’re being tested and so far you’re passing. Congrats, Mac. Maybe you are capable of self-control after all._

* * *

 

 

**The Phoenix Foundation: Lie 3**

“I have to finish up this report,” Mac excused himself when Desi asked if he wanted to join the crew for a bite to eat after a long day at the office. Families broke bread together, which meant much of the time they spent together outside of work was food related. It had become a nightmare for Mac.

She crossed her arms, “Fine, if you won’t leave this building to eat then we can bring you back some food. What do you want?”

“I’m not really hungry, Desi. Don’t worry about it. I’ll find something once I finish up.”

“Coffee doesn’t count as something. You’ve been at it for hours. You need to eat something, or your brain won’t cooperate. You’ll feel better with fuel. You’ll think better.” **It already isn’t cooperating or thinking.** _But at least you aren’t in a food coma. It really doesn’t think well then. Clear stomach, clear head, that’s what I always say._

“Okay, I’ll make sure to get something other than coffee if it makes you happy.”

“I’m not going to let this go. I promised Jack I’d look after you. He warned me about how you get caught up in your head. I know you want to get this done, but you can’t neglect your own needs in the process.” _She’s not going to give up. Make her think she’s getting what she wants. Then, you can just get rid of the food when no one’s looking. Desi will think you’ve eaten without you actually having to eat. It’s the perfect plan!_

Mac didn’t raise his eyes from his paperwork, “Fine, get me something if you insist.”

“I do insist. What do you want?”

“Whatever. I don’t have time to make a decision. You know what I like.” **Try being a little nicer, huh.** _Being nice doesn’t get you anywhere._

She sighed but complied. “Okay, Mac. Be back soon. Don’t work too hard.”

“Thanks,” he said grateful for her thoughtfulness if nothing else. Thank you, Mac learned, could be the best bridge between lies and the truth. You could thank someone for simply being there without having to tell them you don’t want or need their help. Everybody wins from this kind of deception.

* * *

 

**The Phoenix Foundation: Lie 4**

“Sorry, I told my dad I’d meet him today,” Mac apologized when Bozer had asked him to go to a film festival. It wasn’t that Mac didn’t want to spend time with his best friend, but just the thought of having to go out into the world and be around other people made Mac feel tired. He’d never been like that before, but for some reason, now it was hard to do even basic things that once were normal and enjoyable parts of his life. Probably because, as tt hadn’t taken Mac long to realize, food was inescapable in social settings. It seemed every social activity at least included snacks.

If he went with Bozer to the movies, surely there would be concessions— buttery popcorn, sugary soda, and tooth-rotting candy— and while no one was going to hold Mac down and force him to eat any of it, just being around it—the smells, the sights, the cravings— made Mac’s heart beat a little faster. Letting himself be so close to the things he was trying to avoid could only ever mean trouble.

“Besides,” Mac continued, “I don’t want to be a third wheel on you and Leanna’s date.”

“You know Leanna wouldn’t mind. We have lots of quality alone time together. She likes when you hang out with us.”

“I know. It doesn’t matter anyway. I already promised my dad I’d see him tonight.”

“Yeah, that’s cool, and I understand. I just don’t want you to ever feel like we don’t want you hanging around. You’re my best friend. There will always be room for you.” _Until there isn’t. Until they learn that you’re not who they think you are, that you’re a big, fat liar. Someday they’ll see you for the lunatic you are and won’t want you around anymore. Just you wait, Boy Scout._

Since Mac wasn’t sure he believed that what Bozer was saying was true he just said, “Thanks, Boze.”

* * *

 

**Mac’s House: Lie 5**

“Bozer and I are going to the Monster Mash Film Festival he’s been raving about all week,” Mac told his dad when James asked if Mac would come over to his house for dinner, a coincidence if ever there was one. Mac, having avoided his dad for several weeks in fear that eating food would make him want to binge, was seriously neglecting his relationship with his father. **I’m an asshole, denying the wishes of my possibly dying, definitely sick father.**

“Okay. I hope we can arrange something soon, though. I haven’t seen you in a while and I’m starting to worry, son. I know that you’ve been busy, but I’d like to see you soon in a setting that isn’t work related.”

“Yeah, Dad. I’d like that too. How about we just try for our lunch this week and hope nothing calls either of us away.”

“That’s good, Mac. I guess I’ll talk to you later then?”

“Yeah, talk to you later.”

“Goodbye, son.”

“Bye, dad,” Mac said before hanging up the phone, leaving “I love you” unsaid. He put his phone in his pocket and headed to the kitchen to brew some coffee. With Bozer gone for the evening, he’d have the whole place to himself. He could do anything, preferably something that would take his mind off the food he wouldn’t allow himself to consume. He had binged enough this week and didn’t have the energy to do it again. He needed a break, and the only way to ensure he wouldn’t fall into a binge/ purge cycle was not eating at all. Strangely, it was easier to eat nothing than to eat a little and then have to stop himself from eating more.

He got out some of his research, spreading it on the coffee table. For hours, he sat there, trying to find a solution. Maybe he had refused to be with his dad, but at least he was working to cure his dad’s sickness. That made him feel a little less guilty. **At least I’m doing something useful.** _Yeah, and pushing away your dad and best friend in the process._

Mac was on his fifth cup of coffee when Bozer finally got home. _You’re all caffeine. I can’t think if a better thing for you to be._ “Hey, Boze. Did you have fun?” **At least I can hear about his life even if I can’t be a part of it. I miss spending time with him.** _Just not enough to actually spend time with him._

Bozer sat down on the couching and began hyperactively retelling the events of the evening in a way that warmed Mac’s heart more than his near intravenous coffee consumption ever could. Unfortunately, Mac could barely listen through the thought blaring in his head. _You’re a bad friend. He just wants to spend time with you, but you can’t even do that without thinking about yourself and your own problems. You can’t even listen to him telling you about his night because all you can think about is food and eating, you greedy hog._

Mac gave an occasion response, but throughout the conversation half-heartedly listened, rarely uttering more than monosyllables. Bozer, as talkative as he was, didn’t seem to mind or notice. When Bozer had finished his charmingly dramatic recapping of the night, he turned the conversation to Mac, “How was your time with your dad?”

“It was good,” Mac said, “Since neither of us can cook, we just ordered in.” _Yes, always make it clear you had food when you’ve “gone out.” That way, even if Bozer didn’t see you eating, he will assume you did. The power of suggestion is important in deception._ **Please, let the conversation change so I don’t have to make up more lies. I hate lying to my best friend but can’t begin to mutter the truth.**

Then, in a turn of events fitting of a sitcom, there was a knock at the door. **Thank God, a reprieve from having to talk about my imaginary night with my dad.** Regrettably, the unexpected visitor was none other than James MacGyver. _Fuck._ **What angry criminal is screwing with my voodoo doll tonight? My whole life is about to explode.**

 **I need to get him out of here before he and Bozer can talk.** Mac opened the door, “Dad, what are you doing here?”

“Hey, Mr. Oversight,” Bozer called casually. James gave a nod to Bozer in response. Without waiting to be invited, James walked through the door and sat on the old chair in the corner. _Figures he would like the oldest chair in the room. It was probably there while he was still around._

“I thought I’d just drop by to see how you were doing. I know I shouldn’t invade your space, but I wanted to see you, and I figured you would be home from the movies by now.”

Bozer’s face fell and for once he looked like he didn’t have any words. “Movies?” he finally got out.

“The film festival you and Mac went to tonight.”

“ _We_ didn’t go to a film festival. He skipped the film festival to go spend time with you.”

Mac’s dad joined the confused crew, party of two, “I haven’t seen Mac outside of work in over two weeks.”

“Weeks!” Bozer exclaimed shrilly.

“Dad, Bozer, let’s all just stay calm.”

Bozer didn’t stay calm. “How many times did you tell me you were going to see your dad in that time, Mac. Here I was being an idiot who was happy you were making up for lost time with him. When who knows where you were actually going all those times.” Most of the time he’d been going to gym, but he wasn’t going to tell Bozer that. “What happened to trust, Mac? We’ve been friends how long and you still can’t just be honest with me.”

“Bozer, that’s not true. It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

James looked at Mac sternly, voice cutting through the verbal sparring between the friends. “Angus, would you mind clearing things up for us?” Mac slumped onto an empty chair, deflating despite the coffee surging through him. _Not so energized now, are you?_

“It isn’t a big deal. I just didn’t feel like going anywhere tonight.”

“Son—"

“You didn’t have to lie to us,” Bozer cut in, “And that doesn’t explain all the other times you were clearly lying to me. I don’t even know what to believe anymore. I’m obviously easy to dupe.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t an explanation.”

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t have a good excuse.”

“You’d think such a good liar would be able to come up with something,” Bozer said icily, retreating to his room before Mac could get a word in.

Mac turned to his dad, “Have anything to add?”

James patted Mac’s knee, “Kid, you’re a grown up now so I’m not going to lecture you, but as a word of advice, never forget that keeping too many secrets will only tear apart your life. If anyone has learned that it’s your old man.” James got up to leave, using his Oversight voice, “And Mac, I hope your schedule is clear for tomorrow because it seems I’m owed a little quality time with my son.”

* * *

 

 

**A Fancy Spa in Mozambique that is Overrun with Bad Guys: Lie 6**

“My throat’s just a little sore,” Mac explained when his voice gave out during a mission in Mozambique. He coughed a little to clear the lump in his throat.

Desi looked at him, an amused glimmer in her eyes, a face that always made Mac feel like an annoying little brother, **not in a bad way.** “You sound like a smoker, Mac. You haven’t picked up that bad habit, have you?” _Nope, just purger’s cough._

“No way, my lungs can’t handle any more smoke. I inhale enough as it is. Believe it or not, I try to be kind to my body.” _*eyeroll* but I guess you’d prefer an egg roll._ **Very funny.**

“Sure, Sparky, try reminding me of that next time you’re blowing something up.”

* * *

 

 

**Mac’s Deck: Lie 7**

“I’m feeling great,” Mac chirped after Matty asked if he were okay after a coughing fit. _Puking just makes me very congested._  “I guess I haven’t gotten completely over that sore throat.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to trust anything you say.” Bozer, while normally easy-going, was still annoyed with Mac lying to him on an undetermined number of occasions ( _too many to count)._  

“Woah, Bozer,” Leanna said. “What’s up with you?”

“I’m just used to Mac being a liar.”

“Hold on a minute, boys” Riley held up her hands, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re all super spies. Figure it out.” _Wow, look at that, you’re sonofabitch syndrome is contagious. You’re not only fucking yourself up but also your whole friend circle. Hope you feel great about yourself now, Mackie._

“Encyclopedia Brown, care to explain what’s going on since Bozer is being cryptic?”

Bozer didn’t let Mac speak, “For weeks he told me he was going to see his dad when he left the house, but in reality, he didn’t see his dad a single time. Leanna you know that film festival we went to? Well, Mac told me he couldn’t go because he was visiting his dad. I came home and asked him how his dinner was, and he spun a lie about how they ordered food and had a grand old time. Then, I find out that Mac’s dad hadn’t seen him in nearly three weeks. Three weeks!”

Mac rolled his eyes, “Don’t make it sound so dramatic.”

“Did you really do that, Mac?” Riley asked, surprise in her voice.

“Yes, and I apologized already. I’ve been apologizing for three days.”

“Your apology means nothing if you don’t tell me why. The question remains,” Bozer continued, “Why did you lie in the first place?”

Mac scoffed, “Can’t you just trust that I have a good reason for the lies I tell?”

“I understood the whole hiding that you worked for a top secret organization thing, but what is there left to lie about?”

“Why are you taking this so personally? It has nothing to do with you. 

“That’s the problem. Suddenly, everything in your life has nothing to do with me. Am I even your best friend anymore?”

“Of course, you are.”

“Well, it's pretty pathetic that I’m your best friend, and I know nothing about you.”

“You know plenty. Is it that hard for you to understand that I’ve just been busy? I don’t always have time to tell you everything that’s happening with me, but that doesn’t mean I care any less.”

“What is _wrong_ with you?” _A lot. More than can be explained._

“Bozer—”

“No, Riley, don’t try defending him. He’s been an awful friend lately and I want to know why.” _You can’t deny you’ve been an awful friend. You show your food more attention than the people you love. Pretty tragic if you ask me._

“Fine, if I’m so awful. I know when I’m not wanted. I’m just going to go. I don’t need to explain myself to you, Bozer.” He looked to the others, “Or any of you either.”

Mac was embarrassed at his behavior, acting like a petulant teenager who only cared about himself. He hated what this _thing_ was doing to him, but at the same time, he didn’t want to put a stop it. In fact, he’d be binging as soon as he got a chance.

“Fine, run away like a child. See if I care.”

“Fine.”

As Mac left he heard Matty say, “What the hell was that?”

No one had an answer.

* * *

 

**A Corner Store: Lie 8**

“I’m having a big party,” Mac said to the cashier as he piled heaps of food onto the counter. The voices in his head were loud, _you’re a bad friend, a bad son, a bad person. You’re fat, immature, and stupid. You’re a useless waste of space. There’s something wrong with you and you won’t even admit what._

 The little corner store had been the closest place that sold food to his house, so it, unfortunately, had become a place he frequented when he needed binge food. He dreaded it so much that he drove a different way to work just so he wouldn’t have to see that terrible store when he wasn’t binging.

He hated going there more than seemed logical, not just because of the act that always followed a visit but also because of the humiliation of being recognized by various cashiers who worked the shifts Mac frequented. _They know you for the disgusting pig you are. Surely, they must be suspicious._

To his relief, the cashier this time had been new, some scruffy kid who probably didn’t give a damn why Mac was buying enough food to feed half of southern California. Nevertheless, he felt the urge to explain himself because he wanted the kid to think that Mac wasn’t buying all that food for himself to be eaten in one sitting, even though that’s exactly what he was doing.

“That’s sick, man,” the cashier replied nonchalantly. “Hope it’s a fun one.” _Yeah, sick is one word for it. Fun is not._

While pacing the aisles for his supplies, it had taken Mac an absurdly long time to decide what he wanted, even though he had a photographic memory of the food section of the corner store from visiting so often. If his job at the Phoenix Foundation ever fell through, he could work at the corner store as a stocking expert. Surely, he knew where everything was better than even the employees. After all, he had a bigger stake in the stock then the cashiers making minimum wage. _Sad but true._

Of all the cashiers, an older one named Margie seemed to give him the most wary glances. Probably because she’d not only been there the longest, but she was the employee Mac saw the most. It was a weird comradery they had. They didn’t talk but would recognize each other if they passed each other on the street. Margie knew too much.

Yes, Margie had been with him from the very beginning, watching him buy more junk food than any human should be eating in a week let alone at once. Sometimes, she’d even witnessed him buying his feasts two or three days in a row or even twice in the same day. Those were the times Mac felt most humiliated because there was no excuse to explain spending 70 bucks on food in one weekend. Sometimes he’d drive out of his way to the nearest Walmart just to avoid running into Margie because he didn’t like that she might see that he wasn’t just your average hungry man. Maybe her mind would jump to… whatever it was they called people like him… but surely, she couldn’t think what he did was normal. Thankfully, she never commented on it. She may have known too much, but she was an ally more than a foe.

He’d paced up and down the aisles trying to weigh the pros and cons of every option. There were three major things he kept in mind: (1) nutrition because while he was going to throw it all up anyway, he still couldn’t help looking at the nutrition label (although, he mostly didn’t have to look anymore), (2) price because if he was going to throw it up, he didn’t want to pay the big bucks, and (3) purgability because not all foods came up with equal ease.  He also had to consider a sweet to salty ratio because he preferred binging salty foods but also needed some sugary foods in the mix to provided balance. _Yeah, because eating everything you can find is so balanced._ Finally, he had to try to limit how much he bought because buying too much, in addition to being expensive, wouldn’t stop him from eating it all. He’d stuff and purge in cycles until it was all gone. Less food meant less pain.

He’d started his shopping ritual as he always did in the aisle packed with chips, pretzels, and cookies, which was the most important aisle for Mac. It contained his favorite parts of the binge and also created the hardest decisions. He always liked to have chips, but there were too many options: the spicy ones, the ones with ridges, the cheesy ones, the corn chips, the flavored corn chips, the spicy ones with ridges. How was he to choose with so many choices?

 **The spicy ones are cheaper than the spicy ones with ridges. They also taste better too, but who cares about taste when they come back up anyway. Furthermore, spicy foods hurt coming back up. The corn chips are the cheapest, but they aren’t that tasty. They are have less calories than the rest; although, the serving is less than the normal 28 grams, but they are not too awful to bring back up. Flavored corn chips taste better, while more expensive, but they are also easy to bring back up so long as I don’t choose a spicy flavor. Perhaps they have too many calories but not enough volume; a serving is only 10 chips. Though, they are big chips, but I think I’d rather more small chips.** _Can’t you just break them in half?_ **It doesn’t work like that.** _What does it matter? You’re going to eat them all anyway, you dunce._ **I don’t know why it matters, but it does.**

 **Maybe I should just keep it simple and get the plain potato chips with, no without, the ripples. The plain ones without ridges are easier to chew. Wait, actually, I’ll get those and then I’ll get some of those spicy pringles too. Because I need a little spice in my life.** _Careful, you’ll get it twice._ In addition to the two selections of chips, he picked up a package of his favorite wafer cookies, which fortunately required no decision because he always got the vanilla ones. _If only you could get none at all. You’re such a mess._

Mac would then move onto the next aisle, which contained cereals and packaged meals. He’d get a couple packs of cupped ramen, one spicy and one cheesy, another easy decision. Choosing which cereal to get was harder than the ramen but not as hard as the chips. It was always a debate between the cereals meant for kids and those for adults. He liked the Vanilla Special K or the frosted wheat cereal, but was also drawn to the Fruity Pebbles, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and Captain Crunch. **I’m not in the mood for the frosted wheat, so** **I better get the Special K, but the Captain Crunch is on sale as well as the Fruity Pebbles. No, I don’t want those. I’m not in the mood for them. I’ll just get the Cinnamon Toast crunch. That’s a good compromise.** _The best compromise would be to just choose one thing to eat and stop at that, but you’re beyond reason._

Occasionally, his mind would loop back to previous decisions and he’d revert to aisles of decisions past. **Maybe I should just go with the spicy ripple chips instead of the plain ones without ripples, even though they are expensive and will be a fiery hell to bring back up. Yes, I’ll get those. No, I’ll just keep what I have.**

He then went to the final aisle of interest, the refrigerated aisle, and picked up some soda (diet of course because god forbid his soda have calories), vanilla ice cream, and a frozen pizza. **I really do love those spicy ripple chips. Maybe I should go back and get those.** _No, you don’t need them._ **But I do. I’ll regret it if I don’t get them. After all, this is going to be my final binge. Once I eat this, I’ll stop forever, and I might as well make this binge the best one.** So, on his way to the front of the store, he grabbed the spicy ripple chips to add to his loot because why the hell not?

* * *

 

 

**The Phoenix Psychological Annex: Lie 9**

“I feel great,” Mac assured Dr. Joss. Truthfully, he’d been binging and purging for the past three days and felt like shit. It had been too long since he’d been called away on a mission, so not only was he going stir crazy, craving stir fry and Cheetos as he sat cooped up with his thoughts, things were still tense with Bozer. They hadn’t been much better with the rest of the team, who weren’t angry but confused and wary of what was going on. Matty kept an especially careful eye on him, which Mac didn’t like.

“You don’t look great."

“Thanks, that’s sweet of you to say.” 

“Just an observation that you seem a little down.”

“Yeah, well, my friends hate me, my dad hates me, and I don’t blame them one bit for it because I—” Mac stopped himself. **Where did that come from? I’m not supposed to be honest with her.** “My point is I guess that things aren’t so great, but that’s fine because when things are not great, that’s when I thrive. I’m useless when things _are_ great because when normal things work, I’m redundant.” _What kind of rambling nonsense was that?_  

“So, you think you’re only valuable when things are going wrong because fixing things is what you excel at?” **Yes. I’m worthless unless I can find solutions.**

“No,” Mac fibber because they were getting too close to the truth, “that’s not it. I’m just frustrated that everyone always expects me to give answers that I don’t have. My best friend is mad at me because I can’t give him the answer he wants. Telling him the truth wouldn’t make him feel any better, and now, I’ve gone and ruined the longest friendship I’ve ever had just because I’m too dumb to come up with an acceptable response.” _Careful, you’re revealing a lot of feelings. Once you speak, you can’t take those words back. Keep some feelings to yourself._ “I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t know why I said all that.”

“No, don’t apologize. I’m glad you’re finally expressing feelings that aren’t positive.” She grinned, “Good to see you’re not a robot.”

Mac smiled a little, “Good to see you have a sense of humor.”

“Is there anything else you want to get off your chest.”

“No, I think I’ve said more than enough.”

She looked like she wanted to say more, but instead looked at her watch. “Well, that’s all for today, but it seems we’ve made progress this session. I’m sure we can build on this next session.”

"Does that mean I’m almost done with therapy?” he asked mischievously. _Stop letting her crack your walls. Don’t start getting soft on me, MacGyver. Push her away._ **I’m not getting close. I’m just trying to be a good patient so that she’ll let me done with this therapy nonsense.** _Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you’ll believe you._

She gave him a warm grin. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

* * *

 

 

**Mac’s Garage: Lie 10**

**I’m perfectly fine,** Mac reminded himself, surrounded by empty food containers and bags of puke. _Yup, totally great. 5 binges in 3 days. Completely wonderful.  Definitely don’t need therapy. You’re the best you’ve ever been._ Mac's lie to himself was the shortest of them all.  _It doesn't take much to fool yourself._

              

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being a little lengthy then I intended, but I wanted to give a variety of instance where Mac was a liar to others and himself. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this. Thank you for all of you who are sticking with this story xxx


	12. Too Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know I’m not one to break promises  
> I don’t want to hurt you, but I need to breathe  
> At the end of it all, you’re still my best friend,  
> But there’s something inside that I need to release.”

**Approximately .125 Miles from Mac’s House: Almost done with a 5 mile run**

The brisk air pushed against Mac as he forced his body to continue in a fast jog, despite being both exhausted and concussed. _Mildly. You’re only mildly concussed. Don’t make a big deal out of it. No one likes a whiny man baby. Plenty of people live with worse. You can take a little headache._ Mac’s body slowed. _No, don’t slow down. Go faster, you lazy fat ass._ Mac pushed his gelatin legs harder.

The team had only just gotten back to the States, but Mac wasn’t going to let a little jetlag and _mild_ concussion get in the way of his morning routine. _Letting yourself go for even just one day is still letting yourself go._ His head was throbbing at the lightning pace of his heart. Actually, his whole body felt like it was thumping at his skin, clawing at it more like, pounding at his body’s walls so his mind could escape the prison of fat and flesh. **If only I could be a brain without a body. Maybe then I’d feel less terrible.** _Sorry to tell you this, but your brain isn’t anything to be proud of either, Boy Scout. All of you is the equivalent of trash._

The world was spinning, the scenery blurring into an impressionist painting. Mac tried to focus a thin strip of steady vision on the pavement so that he wouldn’t stumble over an uneven patch of concrete and tumble to the ground. Waves of nausea rolled in and out of his stomach, but he needed the exercise. _You still have lots of muscle to build and fat to burn._ If he didn’t get his morning workout in, all the food he was eating (and then puking) would cling to his body in unwanted fat stores. He hoped he could combat that by building muscle and burning calories as he fought his body’s cries for rest. The best he could do was try. His stomach rumbled, startling Mac’s mind to a scary place, one he never liked to visit. _We can’t have that. Ignore that trip to hunger town. Today is a day for purifying your body and mind. Food slows you down. It makes you groggy and distracted._ **With my concussion, I can’t afford to be any groggier or more distracted. I need to keep fuel from my body, so my mind doesn’t have the energy to run in directions I don’t want it to run. If I can control my food, I can control my thoughts. I have the power.** _Right._ Today would not be an eating day. He knew that much.   

There was no time for rest or luxuries such as eating because Mac had to keep going. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but his mind wouldn’t let him stop. Luckily, he had always thrived at things that required endurance. In gym class as a kid, before he’d had any training, he had been far from the fittest guy in school, but during fitness testing, he could always compete with the athletes, who by all accounts were faster and stronger than the pre-teen MacGyver. What Mac lacked in athletic aptitude, he had made up for in intelligence and perseverance. He’d felt like he had something to prove. He wanted to prove he wasn’t some useless loser who couldn’t run the mile. So, he’d push his body to its limits in hopes that people would see that he wasn’t some science nerd weakling. His lungs would be burning by the end and he’d be huffing and puffing like a longtime smoker, but his scores would be right up there with the best of ‘em simply because he refused to give up. Nothing had changed.

Black streaks whooshed across his eyes as his feet battered the sidewalk, more pounding. **Maybe I should walk the rest of the way.** _No, you need to keep going. It’s not far now. You can’t quit now because if you let yourself quit this once, you’ll let yourself quit every other time too. Stay strong._ **I can’t do it any longer.** _Yes, you can. Look, Mac. You’re in sight of your house. Just a little further. It won’t be that bad. I promise._ **Okay, just a little more. I can do it.** _You can do it. Yes, you can do it. Keep going, Mac. Never stop._

He forced his achy legs to go faster for the final meters because the quicker he ran, the sooner he would be done. _Good boy. This is how you get shit done. This is how you avoid being a disgusting pig wasting his life with piles of food and bags of vomit._

As he raced into his house, he crashed into Bozer as he went to get a bottle of water. Before Mac could fall from the unexpected impact, Bozer steadied him, “Woah, slow down.”

“Sorry,” Mac said automatically, wiping sweat from his brow. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“I live here.”

“I thought you’d be with Leanna.”

“She went to Saudi Arabia for an op. You know that.” **Shit. I did know that. At some point.** _Wow, moron, your brain is failing you. That really sucks._ **It sure does.**

“Where did you go? You look like you were beaten repetitively with a Nerf bat.” **Oh great, here comes an interrogation.** _He thinks since he went to spy school he knows how to get you to talk. You better prove him wrong._ **He won’t get the best of me.** _Of course not, Mac. All you can give anyone is the worst of you._

Mac shrugged, trying to act like he’d done nothing wrong. “I just went on my run. Like I do every morning.” _You did what you had to do. Bozer’s just too much of a stickler for the doctor’s silly rules._

 “Are you crazy, Mac? You have a concussion.”  _Yes._

“It’s mild,” Mac replied nonchalantly, swaying a little or maybe that was only just his unsteady vision. It was impossible to tell.

“You’ve lost your damn mind. Sit down before pass out or puke.” Mac obeyed, feeling like a dog. _Sit, shake, beg, you ugly mutt._ But he hadn’t done it out of obedience. Truthfully, his body did feel ready to give out. If he didn’t sit down, he probably would pass out or puke. “Do you think you can handle some food?” 

“No, definitely not,” Mac said. Between the concussion nausea and the so-hungry-he’s-nauseated nausea, food seemed grossly unappetizing even without the burden of his food issues.

“I’ll make you toast. You can eat it when your stomach settles a little.”

“You don’t have to do that.” _Please don’t do that._

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”

“I thought you were still mad at me.”

“We’re too old to hold grudges, Mac. Besides, I’m your best friend, and while sometimes I want to kill you, I don’t want you to die.”

“I’m not going to die from a little concussion, Boze.”

“It’s not the concussion I’m worried about. What scares me is the whole part of your life that you’ve been hiding from me.” 

“It’s nothing major. I’m just working on something and I don’t want to talk about it until I know if it works out.”

“Whatever. Keep your secrets." Bozer put two pieces of toast in front of Mac. Mac’s stomach flipped at the sight, even though the nausea had subsided a little with the water he’d been sipping. That wouldn’t do. “What’s wrong?” Bozer asked at Mac’s pained expression.

“It’s buttered,” Mac said as if it were obvious. He hadn’t buttered his toast (other than during a binge) in months.

 "Yeah, of course it is. You’re the one who always says there is no point in having toast if it’s plain.” _Wow, the old you had a lot of bad takes. Good thing you’re better now. Barely._

 

“I’ve been cutting back. Butter isn’t good for the heart,” Mac explained. **Not a complete lie.** _Still far from the truth. But you’re just doing what must be done._ That explanation made Bozer's eyebrows shoot up, so Mac amended it, "I mean, it isn't good for an already upset stomach. Doctors recommend plain foods."

Bozer ignored the second answer. “A little butter is better than starving yourself,” Bozer murmured, a bite to his voice. “Seriously, Mac. You’re being silly.” _You’re being silly. See? Even your best friend thinks you’re a dumb loser._

“I’m not starving, Bozer. I eat. I’d be dead if I didn’t. Besides, the body can go a lot longer without food than it could go without water. Not eating for a day isn’t that big of a deal when you think about it.”

Bozer backtracked, “I’m not saying you’re doing it on purpose, but you need to take better care of yourself because while you can survive a day without food, it’s not normal to go a day without eating, and it’s not normal to get so caught up in whatever you’re doing that you forget to eat completely. You just have to pay attention to your body’s natural cues.” _Those are shot. Binging, purging, and restricting food will do that to you._

“I take care of myself just fine.” **I wish I would stop having to remind people of it. I’m fine. They’re the ones putting unnecessary stress upon themselves by worrying about me.**

“Then prove it and eat the toast.” _Is he challenging you? Don’t let him push you into doing something you don’t want to do. You’re the one in control here. Never forget that._

“Maybe later.” His answer didn’t seem to please Bozer. Mac wanted to eat, not because he wanted the food, nothing seemed more dreadful than eating food in that moment, but because he didn’t want to keep disappointing Bozer. He wanted his friendship to go back to normal instead of the tense atmosphere that had filled the house ever since the big blow up between him and Bozer. He wanted to make things right. Mac wanted Bozer to go back to being his laidback friend, but he didn’t have it in him to pick up the toast, even for Bozer. It was odd; some days he could eat everything but other days eating anything at all paralyzed him with dread and apprehension.

“Please, Mac.”

“I can’t,” Mac protested, “I’m sick.” **Yeah, but not in the way he thinks.**

Bozer pushed the plate closer and Mac tried not to visibly flinch. Bozer couldn’t know that he was afraid of something as silly as buttered toast because that would mean he had a problem. **I don’t have a problem. I’m just trying to be healthier.** “Mac, just try it.” **If only it were that easy. If only taking a bite would fix things, but it won’t. It will only make things worse.** His heart was racing faster than it had been on his run. He needed to get out of this before his heart exploded from the stress of it all. “If you don’t at least try to put fuel into your body, I’m going to go to Matty about this. She’ll sideline you if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, well joke’s on you. Matty already tried interfering in my life once. She knows I’m too valuable to sideline and has me unnecessarily seeing a shrink each week, so there’s not much being a tattletale would do that hasn’t already been done.”

“Apparently therapy isn’t helping.” Bozer’s forehead wrinkled in stress. _Look what you’re doing to your happy-go-lucky friend. He’s becoming more uptight each passing second. All because you suck the life out of everyone who gets close to you. No wonder they all leave. I’d leave too if I could, but we’re kind of attached._

“Of course, it isn’t helping because nothing’s wrong with me other than people constantly telling me there is something wrong. Everyone is so busy thinking I’m messed up that they forget to consider how their actions impact me. You all treat me like a child who doesn’t know what’s in his best interest. I’m an adult. Let me act like one.” 

“We’re not treating you like a child. We’re treating you the way a family treats each other, that’s all. Maybe we can be a little pushy, but if we don’t push you, you’ll retreat into yourself. You’ll let your big, stubborn brain convince you to push everyone out of your life because if all the people you love are already gone, they can’t leave you. Maybe you’re trying to make things work with your dad, but you can’t convince me that the wounds are all healed. They’re not because I see them shadowing everything you do.”

“When did you get your psychology degree, Freud?” Mac asked sarcastically.

Bozer didn’t let the jibe get to him. “I learned all about psychology when I went, and made the best of, my therapy appointments. I put the effort into getting better, and since I had an open mind, it helped.”

“When did you go to therapy?” Mac asked surprised. Bozer had never mentioned it. _Why would he? You’re not exactly a good friend. He only puts up with you because he feels an obligation since he’s known you so long. Otherwise, he’d not give a fuck about you. He’s stuck with you whether he likes it or not._

“I began seeing her after I nearly blew up, Mac, which you would have known if you head wasn’t stuck in your ass. Unlike you, I like to be open with the people in my life about what I’m going through. There’s nothing bad or embarrassing about having feelings or not knowing how to deal with them. Believe it or not, it can help to let people in.” _No one can be let into your shitshow. No one wants to see your meltdown. It’s stupid anyway. All your problems are because you can’t control yourself around food. Bozer nearly died. His problems make sense, but you, you have meltdowns over fucking butter. Imagine telling him that you’re afraid of toast. He’d laugh at you. Millions of people have real problems. You being unable to eat healthily is not a real problem. It’s a joke. You’re a big fat joke._

“I don’t even need therapy, so I saw no reason to tell anyone about it. I’m not embarrassed.” _You should be. You should hate yourself for being so pathetic. Even if you wanted help, you’re beyond being a salvageable person. You’re lost in yourself and there’s no way out. The best you can do is listen to me and repent for your mistakes._

“That way of thinking is exactly your problem, Mac,” Bozer said seriously. “Now, eat.” _Look at that butter._ Mac shivered at the sight. _It’s soaked with it. This is ridiculous. You can’t eat that!_ **I don’t have much of a choice. Bozer is watching.** _If you eat it, you know what you’ll have to do when you’re done._ **I know.**

Bozer watched Mac carefully as he brought the toast to his mouth and took a small bite, the toast getting clogged in his throat as his mind rejected the offering. Mac pushed it down with a sip of water but even with the water, he felt like he was trying to swallow a silver dollar. The butter was cold, having sunk into the bread and making the middle of the toast soggy. He nearly retched from the thought of the pad of butter melting into the toast, a fatty pool colored like urine. He used to like his toast drenched with butter like that, but now, just one bite made him instantly feel fatter. Obviously, one bite wouldn’t add to his “fat rolls,” but at the thought of the butter entering his stomach, his belly felt more prominent. He felt uncomfortable in his skin; he was too big and it was too small. He imagined his distended stomach pushing against his skin, thinning it like pizza dough until it was stretched so far that the skin snapped, leaving a series of little and gaping holes.

Mac wished he could disappear into the couch. **Why is this such a nightmare?** He felt like crying but wouldn’t. He had to keep a cool exterior. **I can’t do this.** He threw the toast down, letting it clang on the plate. “Boze,” he said weakly, “My stomach can’t handle this.”

Bozer sighed, looking disappointed but not mad. “Okay, Mac. It’s fine. I’ll throw this away and, in an hour or so, we can try some plain toast. Sound good?” _No._ “And if you can’t eat anything then, we’ll have to take you back to the doctors at the Phoenix.” **You and what army? Like I’d ever agree to that.** _Don’t doubt him, Piglet. Bozer may be the friendliest guy you know, but he knows how to bend fate in his favor when he needs to._

Mac let his fall back against the couch, defeated. “Fine, but only one piece of plain whole wheat toast.”

“This isn’t a negotiation. If you can keep down one, you can keep down two.” _120 calories for something you don’t even want._ “It’s not even that much.” _It’s too much._ **I need to eat.** _Yeah, but on your own terms, not someone else’s and not today. We’ve already decided to do a fasting day._ **That’s already been ruined.** _Well, let’s not ruin it any more than we have to._

“I’ll try when the time comes,” Mac conceded, “but I’m not promising my stomach can handle it.” _Good, leaving an out for when you puke is good. Bozer will regret making you eat so much food when he hears you chucking it all up. It’ll seem so natural. There’s nothing better than being able to purge without having to hide._ **Yeah, a dream come true. Everything I’ve ever wanted from my life.** Mac wondered how much more of this he could take because no matter how hard he tried to please the demands of his mind, things never seemed to get better. Good thing he was an expert at endurance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. Thanks for stopping by. Hope you enjoyed the read. I really liked exploring Mac and Bozer's friendship and there will be more of that in coming chapters so something to look forward to. Well, I should be back soon with a new chapter. Thanks as always for reading xxx


	13. Castle of Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “'Cause I’m only a crack in this castle of glass  
> Hardly anything else I need to be  
> 'Cause I’m only a crack in this castle of glass  
> Hardly anything there for you to see”

**Mac’s Kitchen: Another stressful morning**

Mac had decided when he woke up that it would be an eating day but certainly not a binging day. _Never a binging day._ **I’m never going to binge again.** _I’ll believe it when I see it._ **I mean it this time.** _I know you mean it, but good-intentions have never stopped you before._ **I just need to be careful. I’ll measure everything down to the grams. Well, everything I eat privately at least.**

To keep things in check, Mac obsessively tracked what he was eating to make sure he didn’t go over whatever calorie limit he set for the day. He used his handy dandy food scale to weigh his food whenever possible, feeling a low buzz of anxiety when he couldn’t measure each individual ingredient.  

When it was too inconspicuous to pop out his food scale, he had to settle for complex mathematical estimates that made him feel like he was riding a motorcycle across a tightrope line.  Sometimes, estimates of calories and fat, carbs, and protein of the foods he was eating was the best he could do, and he had to learn to live with that sad fact of life. His rule was: when in doubt, overestimate or puke it up. Today, he wanted to avoid puking if possible. He’d been vomiting, not always as a result of a binge, at least once a day for two weeks and he desperately needed a break. His throat, mouth, stomach and even his right hand felt raw from acid shooting up his esophagus and teeth scraping against his knuckles. **Things need to change.**

He’d woken up in a good mood and didn’t want anything to ruin it. He didn’t need to live in the extremes of eating nothing or eating everything. There had to be a happy medium. **I don’t have to be weird around food.** **I’ll just eat normally.** Well, almost normally. **I’ll eat 1200 calories, which seems like a lot but is better than being too hungry and binging.** _If that’s the best you can do, fine._ **I deserve a treat.** _Pshaw. What did you do to deserve that, Boy Scout?_

Because he didn’t like to eat calories so early in the morning, Mac prepared a cup of black coffee. If he didn’t eat in the morning, if something came up later in the day, he could adapt his plans without having to blow his planned number of calories because if he went over his allotted number, there’d be no stopping the puke fest that followed.

He poured some oats and water into a bowl and heated it up for a minute in the microwave. Taking it out, he swished a spoon in the mixture and then dumped it all down the garbage disposal, rinsing it down the drain and putting the now empty bowl in the sink with its dirty spoon. Then, he took an empty glass and swirled a teaspoon of orange juice in it so there was a pulpy film around the edges. He put the rim to his mouth for the final touch, adding a lip smudge. Maybe it was elaborate, but while people wouldn’t consciously take time to consider such miniscule details, being so detail oriented ensured that no one would ever look too closely. People might notice a lack of dishes in the sink because it was unusual, so making things look usual. Unconsciously at least, the message Mac wanted to send would be sent.

Guilt stirred in Mac’s stomach. **I’m so wasteful** , but Bozer had been getting too close to the truth, so Mac had to go to extra lengths to make his friend think he was eating. Mac could plant the seeds that he was eating with little signs like dirty dishes and missing food without ever having to put food into his mouth. He had a whole stash of uneaten food in his garage that he’d been hiding. Maybe someday he’d binge on it, but usually, he just let it accumulate, watching as it stacked up in different hiding spots. When he did binge, he usually bought new food rather than depleting his stores. He didn’t have a good reason why, but there was just something comforting about collecting food without having to eat it. He liked being around it, letting it tempt him while not allowing it to conquer him.

After his coffee, Mac went on his run, and then went to weigh himself before his shower. He had already weighed himself first thing in the morning, as he always did, but he liked to check periodically to monitor his weigh fluctuations throughout the day. Just before he stepped on the scale was always an intense moment of anxiety _. Look at that, .2 pounds down since this morning and 1 pound down since yesterday. Not bad, MacGyver, but not good enough either. Maybe you shouldn’t be eating so much today, after all._ Mac looked at himself in the mirror. _Look at that, there’s fat everywhere— your arms, legs, stomach. I thought you wanted to look better, but here you are looking like your usual lazy self._ **How did I never notice I was fat before this fiasco started? I actually thought I looked good twenty-five pounds heavier. I can’t believe I was ever so oblivious. I’m still too fat even without all that extra weight I used to carry.** _At least you learn from your mistakes. You can only look forward, Mac. Keep going and things will be happier and healthier for you. You just have to stick out the hard transition period._

By the time Mac got out of the shower, Bozer was finally awake, preparing his breakfast. Mac joined him in the kitchen to get a second cup of coffee. Mac took a sip of the steaming beverage and then got to work on doing the dishes. He made a big deal of washing his dirty dishes as Bozer made an omelet just a few feet away, which would make Bozer assume he had eaten. It was a very layered scheme. “You’re up early,” Bozer commented.

“Yeah, well, I thought I would get to work early today, so I can get my work done early so that maybe we can actually do something fun later. Maybe go to Joe’s for some drinks and a burger.” Mac being the one to suggest going to eat would only further ensure to his friends that he didn’t have a problem. Because what person with a eating disorder would suggest going out for burgers? **No one. That’s how I know I don’t have an eating disorder. Maybe food is stressful and maybe I use it as a coping mechanism, but there’s nothing disordered about it. That’s how everyone is with food. Does anyone actually have a healthy relationship with food?** He could budget that food into his diet if he knew to plan for it, even though he dreaded eating out because of all the unknown factors that made it hard to know what he was eating, even with calorie counts on the menu. To make things a little easier on himself, he had already looked at the menu to decide what he could get.

“Really?” Bozer asked, his lips curling in relief. _It’s working. You’re fooling him into thinking you were merely in a funk. Good job, Angus._  

“Yeah, I want to get back to how things used to be.” _Admit you were wrong, and he was right even if it isn’t true. That always makes people feel better._ “I was wrong. I’ve been so focused on my dad and work that I lost sight of everything else, and I’m sorry I’ve been such a shitty friend because of it.” He hoped it didn’t sound too scripted. Bozer gave no indication that it did. _Bring up the therapy. Make it look like you plan on addressing your problems._ “And you were right about the therapy thing. I haven’t really been making the most of it, and I think Dr. Joss could really help if I let her.” _Yeah, right, like that bitch could help you. What does she know? She thinks she has all the answers when she knows nothing about you._

Bozer’s grin became a full smile. “I’m really glad to hear that, Mac.” Bozer pulled Mac into an excited hug, and while not normally against physical contact, the way Bozer squeezed his body made Mac feel insecure. **Bozer can feel all my fat and grossness.** _He’s too good of a friend to be disgusted but that doesn’t make you any less disgusting._ “God, Mac, you’ve gotten so skinny. I can feel your bones.” Mac almost laughed, _yeah right. By feeling your bones, he means feeling your fat. He’s just being nice._

 _But don’t let him know that you think you’re fat. Normal people don’t get it. He clearly can’t see it because you hide it so well. You aren’t actually skinny. Never forget that. You’re not good enough and won’t be if you don’t listen to me._ “Yeah, I lost sight of a lot of things, apparently, but I don’t want to continue living like that. I want to do better going forward in regards both to the people I love and myself.” 

Bozer clapped his shoulder, “That’s all I could ever want from you, Mac. I’m so glad you want to do better.”

"Yeah, Boze. Me too.” And maybe a part of him wanted that, but mostly, he didn’t want to give his food obsessed life up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, lovely people. Not too much happened in this chapter, but it is just setting up for Mac's many ways of deception and getting deeper into his ED. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to leave any feedback xxx


	14. Looking Too Closely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is a song about somebody else  
> So don’t worry yourself, worry yourself  
> The devil’s right there right there in the details  
> You don’t want to hurt yourself, hurt yourself”

 

**Joe’s Bar and Grill: Being totally 100% normal**

The lowest calorie burger on the menu was 560 calories, not including fries, which would fit into Mac’s calorie allowance for the day, without the fries, but nevertheless, the thought of eating so much in one sitting made him a little sick. Plus, if he wasn’t careful, the drinks would put him way over his limit, which he couldn’t risk. While he looked at the menu online, so he could be prepared, he scanned over the menu again just to be sure he was making the best choice. If he wasn’t with his friends, he would just have a spring mix side salad for his meal and call it a day, but since he was with other people, all of who made careers on paying attention, he had to act like a normal guy who loved burgers and fatty food.

Leanna, chair pushed close to Bozer’s, asked, “What is everyone getting?”

“I can’t decide,” Desi said first, “Maybe the steak wrap or the club sandwich.” **Two tasty sounding options. They are just a little more than the burger. I could factor one in.** _Stick to the plan._

Bozer scanned his menu. “I’m feeling the Big Joe Double Burger.” **I’d rather die than eat that monstrosity, but it would be good. Maybe I can eat it and then puke it up.** _No, don’t stray from what you already decided. That’s how you get yourself into trouble, Mac._

“I was thinking of getting the buffalo chicken salad,” Riley said. **I love spicy things, but there’s no way I can have a salad, especially such an unhealthy one.**

“Yeah, me too,” Leanna concurred. Girls could get away with ordering salads. Mac couldn’t. Well, he felt he couldn’t because it was normal for women, even thin women to diet, but not so normal for men who were supposed to macho and athletic, not skinny.  Though, Mac noted that the buffalo chicken salad was not really a light option. At 850 calories, the lettuce was weighed down by calories. _It’s sad that not even salad is safe in this world._

Matty chimed in next, “The personal pizza is my favorite.” **Pizza, a food created by Satan himself. I’d kill for pizza.** _Don’t even think about it, fat ass. You need to be losing weight, not gaining it. Don’t let one craving destroy all the work we’ve done. You’ve been eating and purging like crazy lately. It needs to stop. We need to get back on track and that starts today._

“Mac?”

“Just a basic burger, I guess.” He impressed himself with how casually he had said it, as if a burger could ever just be a burger, not a calorie count, a macro, a device for self-destruction, just a burger. _A burger is never just a burger._ **If only it could be**. Simply saying out loud that he was getting something as unhealthy as a burger sent a rush of shame through Mac. Logically, he knew no one was judging him for his decision, but he felt imaginary, critical stares. _They think you’re too fat to eat something as gross as a burger. They agree that you don’t deserve a burger. They’re laughing at how ignorant you are of your own hideousness. They’re wondering how a person can be so self-unaware. They’re only friends with you because they pity you. They don’t actually care about you, and the more you eat, the less they have to care about. Being fatter doesn’t mean they’ll have more to love. They’ll see that you’re an even bigger loser than they thought._

Mac was glad when the waitress came to take their order before anyone could say anything else. He hated talking about food, especially his food. He didn’t like the action of eating to ever be in the same sentence as his name because being so closely connected to the thing he both love and despised caused too much mental turmoil.

Not too long later, after some non-food related chatter, the waitress delivered their meals, and Mac began the process of preparing to eat. He’d have to keep it quick, but he wanted to make sure the cooks hadn’t put any of the things on that he’d requested they keep off, cheese and mayo especially. He also wanted to be sure to cut his burger in half, so he wouldn’t accidentally eat too much of it. There were many other checklists he had to go through to make sure it was safe to eat and if he rushed them too much, he would feel too out of control. While eating itself was hard, it also took a lot of mental effort to just start eating. Everything had to be just so, or he couldn’t get over the anxiety that lumped in his throat whenever he was around food. 

Before he could get his food in order, he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s you,” the man said with a slur. Mac recognized him immediately and looked away, pretending he didn’t hear anything, but the guy, Jason, wouldn’t give up, a drunken wildness in his eyes. “It’s me, Jason. I work at the Caraway Corner Store.” Mac knew this wasn’t going to be good. From their brief encounters, Mac had learned that Jason was a blabbermouth who liked to hear his own voice and accordingly, would prattle on about whatever popped into his self-centered head. Jason stumbled a little, grabbing Mac’s arm for support. Mac pulled his arm away.

“Do you know him?” Desi asked, heat in her eyes. She was ready to go into fight mode if necessary. _She treats you like a puppy, no bark nor bite._

"Um, I—”

“Oh, yeah. We know each other well.” **We don’t. We see each other too often but that doesn’t make us friends.** “I see your friend all the time. I’d be willing to bet he’s our most frequent customer. Comes in and stocks up on junk food all the time.”

Bozer laughed, “You must be mistaken. Mac is the health junkie of our house. Any junk food in our pantry is mine. He gets huffy if he even has to eat white bread instead of whole wheat.” _That’s cute, Bozer thinks you’re healthy. He doesn’t see you stuffing your face with anything you can find like a feral dog._

“Now that’s hard to believe. Your boy’s a big eater. I’ve seen him twice in the past three days. Some days, he comes in twice, and that’s just during my shift. Don’t know where he puts all that food. He’s so skinny.” _Skinny, yeah right. He’s mocking you._ Mac flushed, shame balling up in his chest. He didn’t want his friends hearing about his disgraceful behaviors at all, let alone through a person who had witnessed Mac buy more food than he’d ever want to admit. “We’re all amazed one person can buy so much food.” _See? They talk about you. They know how weird you are. You’re not hiding it very well._

“I think you must be confused,” Mac tried to tell him as believably as possible. “I think you have the wrong guy.” 

Jason tried to scratch his head but missed, hand landing on his ear as he thought. “We don’t get a lot of guys coming in who look like you.”

 "It’s southern California. I’m sure you do. There are guys who look like me all over.”

Jason’s last drink was starting to hit him. “No, dude, you’re definitely the one.” He mumbled, “I’m not confused.” Confused, he spoke louder, “Clearly, you’re the one who’s confused. Someone has to be confused and it isn’t me because I’m not confused **.** ” _Lying is different from being confused._

“Maybe you should go back to your seat,” Matty said firmly in a voice that could the devil to repent.

“But I’m sure…” It wasn’t a good sign when someone was too drunk to know Matty wasn’t one to be messed with.

“Buddy, he doesn’t know you,” Jason’s friend, who had been laughing at his friend’s antics from his seat, stepped in after a stern glance from Matty. The friend tried pulling Jason away, but Jason was resistant.

“But Timmy he—”

“Jase, leave the guy alone. He says he doesn’t know you.” Timmy pushed Jason into his chair. Then, he turned to Mac, “Sorry, he gets chatty when he’s drunk. He thinks he’s best friends with everyone.” **He does that when he’s not drunk.**

“It’s cool. He didn’t do us any harm.” That wasn’t true. Harm had been done. Mac felt unsettled, whatever appetite he had leaving him. He looked at the burger in front of him and felt instant guilt for even ordering it. **What had I been thinking? I’m exactly the gross, food obsessed loser he was describing me to be. Eating this burger would just prove that.** **But I can’t just not eat it now that I have it.** He looked at his red, puffy knuckles. **No, I said I wouldn’t do that tonight.** _You’ll feel better if you do._ **I don’t need to.** _No, but you want to._

“Yeah, don’t worry about it” Bozer agreed, “He gave us a little laugh.” _Yeah, being called out is so funny._ Mac was mortified. Maybe he’d been able to play it off as a funny drunken case of mistaken identity, but it terrified him to think how close they’d been to learning the truth. He couldn’t laugh away the humiliation he had felt in those moments he’d been unsure of how he was going to excuse away why he’d been caught buying so much food. There was nothing more embarrassing than his binges.

He’d sooner admit to purging than he would to bingeing because while he knew purging wasn’t normal, purging made him feel like he was taking back control while bingeing made him feel like a lazy slob. **That’s what I am: a fat lazy slob with no self-control.** He didn’t want his friends to see him how he saw himself and would do nearly anything to prevent them from seeing him that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little short chapter that doesn't have too much action, but the drama shall heat up soon so there needed to be a breather and a chapter to just further show Mac's fear and triggers. Anyway, hoped you enjoyed. I have a busy schedule at the moment, but I hope to update soon if time allows. Thanks for reading, lovely people xxx


	15. Beautiful People Beautiful Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But we’re just beautiful people with beautiful problems  
> Beautiful problems, god knows we got them  
> But we’ve got to try (lie-la-lie)  
> Every day and night (lie-la-lie)”

**Phoenix Psychological Annex: Another uneasy appointment**

“How have you been feeling today?” Dr. Joss asked in the way she always did at some point during Mac’s appointment.

“Peachy,” Mac said dryly.

“That’s not an acceptable answer. This is honesty hour. You can tell me you don’t want to answer questions, but I’d like some semblance of truth.”

“Honestly, I’m slightly annoyed.”

 "Care to explain?”

Mac hesitated. **I shouldn’t, but it’s not like she can tell anyone. There’s no one else for me to talk to.** “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you a little bit about what’s bothering me…” He trailed off. He wanted her permission to talk about it. He wanted to know it was okay. **I want to tell her some of the things on my mind.** _But not too much._ He was trying to cooperate as much as he could so that she would finally clear him to end his treatment. **I don’t even need treatment in the first place. This is ridiculous.** _It sure is._

 “Talking is good, Mac. Go on, then.” She smiled, which, strangely, alarmed Mac to the point that he nearly redonned his armor. _You should be wary when people are nice._ **Maybe she’s just a nice person.** _No one’s nice merely for the sake of being nice._

“Well, it’s not a big deal, but my friends always meddling, trying to get me to do this or that. So, today, it was Desi’s turn to hound me, and she kept trying to give me half of her sandwich. I didn’t take it, of course, but it was hard to resist her pestering.”

“You said ‘I didn’t take it, of course,’ what did you mean by that?”

“I just meant that I wasn’t hungry, so I didn’t take the sandwich. I don’t even like tuna.” 

“Hm, I see. Has your appetite been less than usual?”

 _Not exactly. You have a bigger appetite than ever, but you’re getting better at ignoring it._ “I wouldn’t say so, no”

“Have you had trouble eating?”

“Of course, not. Why would I have trouble eating?”

“Sometimes, circumstance can make it hard for people to eat.” 

“Why are you asking these questions, anyway? They have nothing to do with the _feeling_ I’m trying to get across. You like feelings so much, but when I express one, you jump off to something completely unrelated.” _But is it really unrelated? Isn’t the fact that you’re a fat slob who can’t control himself around food the heart of all your problems?_

“I’m just asking because if your friends are that concerned about you, there’s probably a reason. Do you know what that could be?”

“They’re all just so domineering. Suddenly, it’s like I’m incapable of dictating my own life.”

“And does that bother you?”

“Duh, it bothers me. That’s why I brought it up.”

“Let’s try not to get defensive, Mac,” she said like a mother breaking up a fight between two middle schoolers. _Did you hear that, Boy Wonder? We’re two middle schoolers._ **Yeah, I heard. Now shut up so I can concentrate.** “So, tell me, what reasons do you think Desi would have for wanting to give you part of her lunch?”

“Maybe she just wasn’t hungry.”

“That’s one option, but it seems to me she was pretty persistent and she could’ve given it to someone else or saved it for later. Why would she specifically want you to have it?”

“Because she thinks I need to eat more.” **Which is the last thing I need.**

“And why would she think that?” At that question, Mac grew fidgety. They were hedging the truth and he didn’t like it, but at the same time, he didn’t want to tell a lie. He had to lie to everyone else, and it would be nice to have one person who would listen to the truth without being able to use it against him for more than an hour a week (and sometimes less when a mission cut into his therapy time). _But even Dr. Joss cannot find out the whole truth. You can’t risk her knowing too much. She could deem you unfit for field work or god forbid diagnose you with something you don’t have._

“I guess I’ve been distracted and not eating as much as I should, and she’s noticed. I work with some very smart people.”

“How often do you skip meals?”

“I don’t skip them. I just put them off until later.”

“It seems to me missing meals goes beyond just being busy.”

“No, it’s not like that. I don’t go out of my way to eat, sure, but eating’s not exactly a hard task, especially when everyone keeps pushing food onto me, so when I get really hungry, I eat. I just pick up some food and put it into my mouth like everyone else. Easy.”

“I know it seems that easy, but it’s not that strange for people to struggle with it, believe it or not. It’s okay if you sometimes have trouble eating or if you use unhealthy compensatory methods after eating, but it is something that can be remedied, Mac.”

Mac shifted in his chair. **I need out of here.** “Good thing I don’t need to remedy it. My eating habits are fine.” **Let’s talk about something else.**

“Your wording suggests so, but your defensive tone disagrees.”

“This is supposed to be about what I want to say, not some diagnosis you’re dying to hand out to anyone you can shove it onto.”

“What specific diagnosis are you referring to?”

Mac had one in mind, but he couldn’t bring the words to his lips. **I don’t have _it_. **“I don’t know. I’m not a psychologist or psychiatrist or whatever you are.” 

“What do you know about eating disorders, Mac?” There it was, that word. 

“They’re something teenage girls get when they want to fit into their prom dresses.” 

“That doesn’t really capture them very well. Anyone can get one, in fact. Girls, boys, men, women and all the genders in-between, and let me tell you something, most of eating disorders aren’t really about vanity. They can be about many things, but often, they can be of taking the hate you feel for yourself and projecting it onto your body. Patients then use the eating disorder behaviors to try to control how they look and relatedly, how they feel.”

“I’m sure what you’re saying is true, but that doesn’t mean it’s true about me. I don’t have—” he paused “I don’t have _that_.”

“Okay, Mac. Maybe you don’t have an eating disorder, but if you ever feel your circumstances are getting in the way of you eating properly, I can help talk you through that, and if you’re ever too busy to eat, know that whenever you come here, if you need to take a lunch break instead of talking, that’s fine too.” _Not going to happen._ **I’d rather talk than eat in front of her.**

“I don’t think Matty would approve of that last bit. She seems to be on team talk.” 

Dr. Joss smiled again, “Good thing Matty never has to know about any of this.”

“Matty has her ways of finding out.”

“She’s never been able to get information out of me before, and I don’t foresee that changing anytime soon. Even Matty can’t best her older sister.” **Her sister?** _Holy fuck._ **Her sister!** All together now, **_Her sister!_** Dr. Joss laughed at Mac’s shocked expression. “Well, technically half-sister, but we’ve spent our whole lives looking after each other so the half part seems to devalue our relationship.”

“You’re her sister?” Mac asked, still stunned.

“Here at the Phoenix foundation we like to keep things within the family.” She looked at the clock, “I’ll see you next week.” Mac perked up. He could get some very good information out of this woman. “And no, we will not be talking about me.”

Mac laughed to himself. “We’ll see about that.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Chapter 15! Just a short one, but just wanted a little something with Dr. Joss before the new chapter. I don't really know why I decided to make Dr. Joss Matty's sister but I really just felt it was right lol so I went for it! Thanks for reading, wonderful earthlings (and aliens are welcome too). Goodbye for now. Be back soon xxx


	16. There's a Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s a sound that’s haunting my dreams  
> Like children laughing in the distance   
> And I don’t know what it means  
> Am I afraid to be alone?  
> That nobody will know  
> This death and dying?”

**Mac’s House: Some days it’s hard getting out of bed**

For the first time in his life, Mac just didn’t go to work because he didn’t feel like it. He’d missed work before, of course, but when he did, it had always been for justifiable reasons.  He’d never skipped simply because he wanted to avoid all people and all responsibilities. This lack of all motivation was new. Before, even on days when he felt down, which seemed to be most days now, he still could drag himself to the Phoenix Foundation, but now, moving his body seemed impossible. 

He’d never felt so overwhelmed by living life before. _There’s a first time for everything._ He wanted an escape because after all the thinking he had been doing, his brain needed a break. Hiding secrets, trying to eat and not eat, and the constant battles within his brain were draining. The anxiety daily life caused had grown into an elephant, constantly sitting on his chest. He just needed a few moments of peace. Was that too much to ask? 

He took a deep breath. How was this what his life had become? How was this him? He used to be happy. Now, he wasn’t sure what he was. He didn’t feel anyone anymore. The only identity he had left was a vessel for disorder, and he wasn’t sure that counted as a personality.

Under his covers, Mac tried to feel warm, but he felt cold. Shortly before, he had told Bozer that he was running late and that he’d meet him at work, and he had meant it, but, then, everything had gone topsy-turvy, and going to work seemed impossible. There was an invisible force stopping him. It hadn’t been long since Bozer left, so he could still make it to work without being terribly late, but he wasn’t sure he had it in him to even get dressed let alone be useful.

His eyes felt fused open, restlessly wide awake. Mac wasn’t physically tired, but emotionally, he needed to sleep. His brain was falling into a slumber while his body remained awake. What he thought he knew, he no longer could trust.  A drowsiness filled his consciousness as he let go of the nagging voice in his brain. Well, he let go of it as much as he could while still being alive. He let go of all the things that tied him to traits he hated. He let go of his body. He didn’t want it anyway. He let go of his existence. He wouldn’t need it for a while.

The birds that normally woke him to go on his morning run sounded tinny, like they were being played on an old tape player. Although, it was a sunny day, his room was overcast with a dreamy eeriness, the colors muted, the sights a painting more than live-action shot.

In this trancelike state, he didn’t feel like himself. It wasn’t quite an out of body experience; he wasn’t hovering above himself, looking down on the still form staring at the ceiling, but he didn’t feel like he was in his body either. It was as if he was a tiny little person sitting on the bridge of Angus MacGyver’s nose, able to see the same things Mac would see but unable to do anything but observe. He was passive. He was a parasite, living off the memories and body of someone he was not truly a part of. He was a figment, thin and wispy, unwittingly going along for a ride with no way to indicate where he wanted to go. He didn’t need autonomy. He didn’t need to make decisions. He could relax in the safety of being detached from self and reality.

His phone was ringing, though the cloudiness of reality meant Mac couldn’t tell for how long. He didn’t really care. The ringing was just background noise. Mac didn’t answer because **It’s not my phone. It’s not my voice. They’re not my friends. I’m not real. Nothing’s real. I’m far away from all these worries.**

Mac didn’t feel cold anymore, but his body was still shivering. So, he threw on a sweatshirt and grabbed a steaming cup of coffee. He let the steam tickle his face, but felt nothing, and he glanced down at the hot fluid, seeing a faint reflection, but the face was unrecognizable. He knew it was his reflection, but the eyes looked too blank, the face too still. No, that couldn’t be him. For a flash, he felt warmth, the heat of the mug between his hands, which nearly broke him from his trance, but even the mild discomfort of the warmth against his palms wasn’t enough to jolt him back into his own body. The burning was not his to feel. **These are not my hands.** He felt an empathetic sting for his host but was otherwise numb.

Eventually, he looked at the wall. The room was too still. **Like that face in the mug.** A hand was raised in front of his eyes. **Is that mine?** It was, but as he brushed his finger nails against it, he felt no connection. Nails dug into his palm, but still nothing. He was watching someone else touch another person’s hand. Half crescents were left, but that was the only indicator that his nails had ever been there.

The hand fell against the arm of the couch. The body that looked like him was a puppet, being pulled by strings Mac couldn’t see. He wanted to prove that he was real, that it _was_ his body, but with each attempt, he felt further from himself. So, he went back to staring because vision was the only remaining connection he had to the body. He and the body both saw the same things, even if only the latter could interact with what it saw.

“Mac,” he heard a voice, but didn’t look up. They couldn’t possibly be talking to him. “Mac,” another voice said, and this time he lifted his eyes as if to ask, “What do you want?” but he made no attempt to speak. He had no voice. He was just a little motionless man on the tip of a nose.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He was fine this morning.” _He wasn’t. He’d been like this since he woke up, going, albeit slowly, through the motions, a dead man walking._ “Running late but otherwise fine.”

“Has he been drugged?” **I feel drugged, but no, it seems to be different than that.** _Something scarier._ **Like my mind is drugging itself.**

“Does he need medical attention?”

“He looks pretty out of it.” _He, he, he. None of those he’s are me. They’re talking about you when you aren’t even you. You’re just he, that dude with the Swiss Army knife and love of paperclips._ **That dude hasn’t been alive for a long time. He is permanently gone.** _Does that make you a body snatcher?_

“Maybe we should take him to get checked out just in case. We don’t know who could be behind this. As far as I know, Murdoc is still in jail, but he Mac has plenty of other enemies still walking the streets.” **Mac? Mac who?** _You._ **Right. I have a name. I have enemies. Murdoc is my biggest adversary.**

“We need to update Matty. She’ll know what to do.”

“I’m fine,” Mac finally said. He was floating between two worlds, sure, but he wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t sad. He wasn’t excited. He wasn’t angry. He was neutral.

“You didn’t come to work, Einstein. We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for two hours.” _Two hours? **There’s no way.** Where did all the time go. _**It couldn’t have just gotten up and walked away.** He couldn’t fathom that two hours had passed. Time was supposed to go slowly when it was spent absently staring off into space. Two hours weren’t supposed to pass without him noticing. It couldn’t be possible.

“Two hours?” he heard himself ask.   **What is happening to me? Am I losing my mind? Is it even my mind to lose?** “It’s only been a few minutes since you left, Boze.”

He noticed three startled looks, and if he could see his own face, there might have been four.

“That’s it,” Riley said, “We need to take him to a doctor.”

“No,” Mac asserted, “That won’t help. It’s not a medical problem.”

“Then, what is the problem?” Desi asked as patiently as she could, but there was an edge to her voice. She always got antsy when things got both serious and mysterious. She didn’t mind danger, but she liked danger to be straight forward. She liked knowing what she was getting into.

“I think I just need sleep.” It wasn’t a lie. Fatigue wasn’t the problem, but sleep, nevertheless, seemed like the solution. When everything felt like a dream, wasn’t the best answer to wake up? And if he wanted to wake up, he first had to sleep. When you need to find yourself, take a trip to somewhere else.

Bozer looked skeptical. “Are you sure it isn’t something more serious?”

“No, but whatever it is, I don’t think it’s going to kill me.”

“Fine,” Riley said. Mac was getting dizzy from trying to keep up with all these people: three friends and an interloper who he was supposed to be but didn’t quite recognize. “But I’m going to stay here in case something happens. You shouldn’t be alone right now.” 

“You have better things to do than watch me sleep. International disasters aren’t going to stop just because you want them to.”

Riley smiled, waving her fingers. “Luckily, I can do my work remotely.”

“Lucky indeed,” Mac muttered. **Please, let sleep fix me.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hope you enjoyed this. Just thought I'd show you how eating disorders can cause and occur simultaneously with other mental issues and how they can really complicate a person's mental health beyond just the food aspects and that's the part that's really scary and debilitating because it takes over every part of a person's life. Anyways, Mac is losing his ability to function very well, and that's really going to mess with his life and put him into a negative mindset (well, more negative). When he thinks he's reached rock bottom, there will always be a place lower it seems. Let's hope things will get better for Mac someday, but it's hard for him to believe that will ever happen! As always, I love you all. Thanks for reading, incredible people xxx
> 
> P.S. I'm ignoring the Desi/ Mac romactic implications from last episode for the time being in this story because I don't really want romance to be at all involved at this point and think that Mac isn't in the right mental place for a relationship anyway. He's kind of pushing himself away rather than trying to build a relationship! But we shall see what happens in the show and I'm going to try to keep it as close to cannon as possible, but obviously, some things will deviate just for the sake of my story!


	17. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I broke my back to make a breakthrough  
> Oh, I lost my mind, look what it came to  
> Oh, had to lose it all so I could understand  
> Oh, I was just a boy in the shadow of a man.”

**The War Room: The battle begins**

The team were sat in the war room, gathered for a case, and Mac, like a puppy, was excited that he was finally getting some action. Things had been weird at work, many hours spent with his friends casting him concerned glances, but Mac hoped that with a successful mission, he could prove that he had his shit together, which he definitely didn’t given the bags of puke in his garage that he had yet to dispose of. _Wow, you’re really thriving._

He felt adrenaline surge through his body as Matty debriefed them on the case, an incident involving American citizens at a swanky Mexican resort. Mac was also relieved that he’d have an excuse to miss dinner with his father. Things were lining up perfectly. **For once.**

“Desi, Boze, Leanna, and Riley you’ll be on the ground for this op.” Matty tuned to Mac, and disappointment started to bloom in his chest at the apologetic look. “Mac, you’ll work here for this operation.” _Guess that means you’ll have to go to that dinner with your dad, after all._

“What? Why?” he asked. He hardly ever was left behind on field ops. In the field Mac’s attributes were really showcased. The field challenged him and kept him sharp. In the field, he was special. At home, he was just another egghead.

“Oversight and I decided that your skillset would better used here.” _Liar._ “If something comes up, you can always give some of your brilliant assistance remotely.” _Fucking Oversight. He’s always trying to puppet master your life. Matty too._

“I’m more of a hands on kind of guy. I’m not really useful being cooped up in a building.”

“Mac, you need a break from high stress missions, that’s all. We all get burnt out sometimes.” _She thinks you’ve gone crazy. She’ll never let you out of therapy. You’ll spend the rest of your career having to talk to her sister, trapped in this building reading reports and going crazy because no one trusts you to take care of yourself._

“I’m fine,” Mac protested. “I can handle this op, Matty.” 

“I know, Blondie,” she said using his nickname because she knew it softened him, “but you won’t be going on this one. My decision has already been made.” Clearly, arguing wouldn’t get anywhere. If anything, it would only further convince Matty that stress and anxiety had gotten to him. The normal Mac knew when to quit. The new Mac never wanted to quit. **This sucks.** _Yeah, and it’s all because you can’t keep your insanity from shining through. If only you could keep your shit together, but you’ve been losing it more often than not lately, haven’t you?_

***

 

**The Diner for Dinner: Thank God for 24/7 Breakfast**

While Mac would have liked to have gone on the mission, he supposed he was glad to see his dad, despite the whole having to eat food part.

James only had a couple sessions of chemotherapy left and had been feeling a little weak lately, missing a lot of work and time with Mac. One week, James had even wound up in the ICU from an infection. That had really sent Mac spiraling, but all had worked out in the end, and James was mostly recovered from the scare if a little tired. Mac had never quite recovered. He remained hypervigilant about his dad’s health.

Nevertheless, James’ prognosis was looking good. _No thanks to you. You’ve practically ditched all efforts to cure him yourself because you’d rather stuff your ugly face with food._ **He didn’t need my help.** _That doesn’t mean you couldn’t have given it. You’re selfish and a bad son. I don’t know why he wants a relationship with you even though you’ve proven time and time again how shitty you are as human._

“How are you doing, son?” James asked after their food arrived. **Oh, I’ve been just peachy.**  

Mac looked down at his two eggs and piece of plain toast. “I’ve been worse.” _Have you though?_ “How about you? You look a little haggard. You feel alright?” He poked a circle around the two egg yolks with his knife, pushing the whites towards him and the yolks to the small plate his toast had been on before he consolidated it all to one plate.

“All things considered, I’m great. Glad to be out of the hospital and doing as well as I can be.” James watched Mac carefully. The scrutiny made Mac squirm. He hate being looked at. He didn’t mind being glanced at, but when people really looked at him, that’s when he knew he was in trouble.

Mac noticed his dad had yet to dig into his pasta, “You’re not eating. Is your stomach upset?”

“I could say the same about you.” James picked up his utensils and began twirling spaghetti. _Ew, spaghetti from a diner. How repulsive._

Mac took a big bite of his toast to prove a point. _Ew, slow down you pig._ “I’m eating. What else does it look like I’m doing?”

“Playing with your food.” **Agonizing more like.**

“If you have a point make it,” Mac said impatiently. He didn’t have time for his dad to dance around whatever he was trying to say.

“I’m starting to think that I’m not going to be the first one to die in this family.” Mac’s heart skipped a beat. **Nope, no, I do not want to continue this conversation. I’ve had enough concern today. If people could stop confronting me, that would be great.**

Mac forced a laugh, “That’s ridiculous.” 

“You’ve lost too much weight.” Mac put his toast down and cut his egg whites into tiny squares, pushing them around his plate, and occasionally popping a piece into his mouth. “It’s scary, actually. I think we’ve all been trying to deny that something serious is wrong, but you’re not getting better. You just keep deteriorating, and I can’t watch that any longer.”

Another bite of egg white. “I haven’t.” _30 pounds isn’t a lot. You could stand to lose more. Zap that last bit of fat._ “Maybe I’ve lost a little from stress, but I didn’t do it on purpose.”

James didn’t seem to believe him. “Angus, you need to eat. You’ll die if you don’t eat.” _It takes a long time before you actually die. Ignore him. He’s just trying to scare you. He wants you to stay fat and ugly. He wants you to hate yourself. He doesn’t want what’s best for you, not like I do. He left you. I’ve never left you, Mac._

“I know that.”

“You don’t seem to care that you’re starving yourself.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Mac rolled his eyes. “I’m not starving myself. I eat plenty. Just because I don’t eat a 1000 calorie meal doesn’t mean I don’t eat. I eat all the time, actually.” 

He cut his egg white squares into smaller egg white squares. Then cut them again.

“Stop that!” James shouted, causing the whole diner to go silent for a moment. When the shock had settled, the chatter gradually returned to normal, but Mac’s humiliation lingered. _Everyone’s going to think you’re a freak whose dad can’t even put up with him. They’re going to figure out that you’re the world’s worst son, the world’s worst person._   **Someone get me out of here.** _No one wants to save you from the hell you created for yourself, MacGyver._

“Stop what?” Mac asked, confused. **I wasn’t even doing anything.**

 “Cutting your food like that,” James said in a softer tone, fingers rubbing his temple. _Look, you’re giving your poor, sick father a headache, Boy Scout. I guess we know who won’t be getting the son of the year award._ Mac put his knife down. “It’s like you have to dissect every part of your meal before you eat it.” **Oh, I forgot that wasn’t normal.** _Nothing about you is normal. You should know that by now._ James sighed, “I should have noticed sooner.” He corrected himself, “I should’ve said something sooner.”

Mac felt his dad watching him as he took another bite. _He’s judging you, fatty. He thinks you’re disgusting._ Mac put his fork down. He couldn’t eat if he knew he was being watched so carefully. “Can you just focus on your own meal,” a desperate tone came out. “I can’t—” Mac started, too embarrassed to finish, **I can’t eat if you’re watching me**. **It’s hard enough to eat in public without the added pressure.** It would be too pathetic to say that.   _It sure would, but you’re used to being pathetic. It comes easy to you._ He didn’t want his dad to know how messed up he was.  “I—” he tried again, but there was no way to describe how he was feeling without revealing too much. “Never mind.”

James resumed eating. He swallowed a bite. **He makes it look so easy.** Just the thought of eating spaghetti made Mac’s palm’s sweat. “You need to finish your food.” But the feeling of being under a microscope had shot any appetite Mac had. He took a sip of water instead, wishing it was coffee. He was hungry, even if he had no will to eat, and coffee always made hunger better. Mac stared at the miniscule pieces of egg, leg bouncing in anticipation. “Angus, I’m serious. Finish your toast and eat the _whole_ egg.”

“I don’t like the yolk,” Mac replied petulantly, which was true. The yolk, for some reason, made him feel like a fat loser. James thought he had it all figured out, but he knew nothing. He sure didn’t understand what Mac was going through.

“I don’t care. I want you to eat it. You’re never going to get back in the field if you don’t make an effort to nourish yourself. I can’t have my agents running around with zero fuel.”

“Oh, wow,” Mac said bitterly. “It always comes down to threats with you, doesn’t it? Sorry to tell you this, but at this table, you’re my father, not my boss. What happens here should have no relation to work.”

“Maybe so, but all’s fair in love and trying to keep your kid alive.” It was almost a nice sentiment.

* * *

 

**Mac’s House: Finally home**

Mac turned the key, opening his door with a few bags of food looped around his arms that he’d picked up on his way home. **Finally home. Today’s been such a long day. I need to escape it all for a while. I need to binge so badly, and I need the release of purging more than anything.** _You’re so weird. I don’t know why you actually like the feeling of puking. These days you eat to puke rather than puking to eat. You’ve changed, Mac._ **I’d like to think for the better.**

To Mac’s surprise, the light was on, the dim glow of a lamp illuminating the chair where Bozer sat absentmindedly reading a book of Mac’s on astrophysics. _He’s probably just looking at the pictures._

Mac put his bags down, trying to hide them behind a small end table. “You’re back early,” Mac commented.

Bozer voice was stoic, eerily so. “We only went to Mexico. The op was quick and easy.” _They didn’t even need you. Look how well they do without you. Face it, Mac, you’re not useful anymore. Maybe you never were. Look at how unimportant you are, how unimportant you’ve always been._

“That’s good,” Mac hoping to ease the tension. **Why is Bozer being so weird? He sounds stressed, almost angry, but anger is the wrong word. Frustrated? Confused? Concerned?** _Ugh, you don’t deserve concern._

“Yeah,” Bozer agreed, sounding distracted.

“What’s wrong? You sound upset, Boze.” Mac said evenly, trying to be the sensible one in this situation. Even if he was a shitty friend generally speaking, he tried to be a good friend whenever he had the chance. _It’s the thought that counts_ , the voice in his head mocked.

“Mac, we need to talk.” _God, do him and your dad plan these concern fests? It seems everyone wants to control your life on this fine Tuesday._

“Can we talk later, Boze? I’ve had a really long day,” **and I want to gorge on a bunch of food and puke it up because dinner was unsatisfying. Please just let me have that one thing,** _that one pathetic thing._

Bozer shook his head. “This can’t wait.”

Mac mechanically dropped to the couch. “Fine, talk.” **Might as well deal with this now. It’s not like my night can get any worse.**

Bozer took a deep breath, “Mac, I never imagined having to say this,” **Why is he so nervous?** Mac’s heart was pounding in his chest. This wasn’t good by the sound of it.  Bozer paused, trying to find his words. _He’s moving out. He’s dumping you as his best friend. He’s telling you that none of your friends want to be around you anymore. He’s admitting he doesn’t like you. He’s explaining to you that you’re a fat ugly, bastard. He’s calling you useless. He’s confessing the team only keeps you around because they pity you. He’s labeling you a freak. He finally knows how atrocious you are._ **Just tell me, Bozer. I can’t take this suspense.** Bozer sighed. “Well, Mac, the thing is, I want to know if you” he paused, “if you have an explanation for the bags of puke in our garage because I’ve been trying to think of one all night, and it really seems like such a good excuse doesn’t exist.”

The whirring in Mac’s brain came to a halt. All he could think was, _Oh, shit._ Apparently, things could get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got excited and wrote this chapter right away (and already have the beginning of the next). Hope you enjoyed this. Things just aren't going the way Mac wants right now, poor Mac, but being confronted with the truth may be a good thing or I guess it could just make him more stubborn and committed to continuing and hiding his behaviors (we shall find out soon). I'm trying to pace myself, but when I finish a chapter I really don't like to wait to put it up because it's like once it's up, then mentally I can better move on to the next one. Thank you all for reading xxx


	18. My Body is a Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m standing on a stage  
> Of fear and self-doubt  
> It’s a hollow play,  
> But they’ll laugh anyway”

**Mac’s House: This isn’t good**

“Please tell me you have a good reason for keeping puke in bags,” Bozer repeated, miserably and without hope.

“Why were you even in the garage?” Mac deflected. “You never go there.”

“I broke my hammer and was looking to borrow one of yours, but that’s not really the issue here, Mac.”

“I do have an explanation,” Mac lied, “but now’s really not a good time to talk about this. I’m tired.” **I am tired, too tired to come up with a half-decent excuse.**  

“Talk anyway. Neither of us will sleep if we have this conversation hanging over our heads.” Mac started to run his hand through his hair as he always did when he got nervous, but just as he was about to reach his scalp, he pulled his hand back. Sometimes, clumps of blond hair came out when he touched his hair too much and pulling out a bunch of hair would not do anything to quell Bozer’s worry.

“What do you want me to say?” _He wants you to admit that you’re a fuck up and a loser who makes himself puke because he packs in food like he only has one day left to eat._ **I don’t always eat a lot when I puke.** _It’s still repulsive._

“I told you. I want an explanation,” Bozer’s voice was firm. _You’re not getting out of this one._

“ _It_ [the puke] is for an experiment,” Mac attempted. “I’m trying to find a way to make a battery out of vomit,” he added weakly. _Seems like kind of idiotic scheme you would do to me._

“Do you really expect me to believe that? I’m not a fool. Not even you would attempt to use puke as fuel.” _It was worth a shot._

“I was hoping that, as my best friend,” _If that’s what you are anymore,_ “you would believe me, but you are apparently Mr. Skeptical now.” Mac tried to be mad, but Bozer was right. Mac was lying.

Mac’s best friend looked tired, stress pulling at his forehead and crinkles forming where his mouth dropped into a frown. “I just want the truth.”

“You don’t, though. Honesty isn’t going to make you feel any better, and it’s not like you haven’t already guessed what the truth is. If you hadn’t, you would have believed my lie. No, you already know the truth, and that’s why we’re here. No matter what I say, you’ve already come to your own conclusions, so why don’t you tell me what you think you know." 

“You’ve been making yourself throw up?” came a near whisper, desperately not wanting to believe it was true, but having no other good alternative.

“Only a couple times when I already felt sick,” Mac tried evading reality again. “I was just expediting the process.”

“Mac,” Bozer admonished. “You’re lying.” 

“How would you know?”

“Because you’re talking.” Mac bit his lip, _touché._ “I won’t be mad if you just give me straightforward answers, okay?” Mac felt like he was a child who had accidentally broken his mother’s cherished vase.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been the worst friend. I'm truly awful.”

“That’s not true.” _Look who the liar is now. He hates your guts._ “ _It_ [the situation] has been hard, but you’re still my best friend. You know that.” The problem was, he didn’t know that. Mac barely felt like he knew anything anymore. His whole world felt like a stretched version of the truth. 

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know tonight if we can forget about it tomorrow.”

“How long?” Bozer asked without agreeing to or disagreeing to the deal.

“I don’t know. Seven months or so,” Mac said, rubbing the swollen glands on his neck as if they were a crystal ball with all the answers. They didn’t give him any answers, but they sure did ache.

Bozer looked like he wanted to cry, brown puppy dog eyes wilting. “Seven months? How?”

“Well, the mechanics are pretty easy,” Mac said with a feeble laugh, wiggling his first two fingers.

“That’s not funny.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!” Bozer cried impatiently. “Being sorry won’t do a lot of good.”

“Sorr—” Mac stopped himself. _Old habits die hard._ “It's a reflex.” _Second only to your gag reflex._

“Why do you do _it_ [the clearing of the metaphorical pipes]?” Mac knew by _it_ , Bozer didn’t mean the sorry reflex. 

“That’s complicated.” **Sometimes because it feels good, sometimes because it’s punishment, sometimes to remind myself that I’m real, sometimes because I’m lonely, sometimes because I’m bored, and sometimes to celebrate. Whenever I have a feeling, I have a reason to do it.** “I have justifications I guess, but I do _it_ [the upchucking] because, on some level, it feels good. Like remember when we first got drunk, and I was so sick, so I made myself throw up?” Bozer nodded. “Well, _it_ [the retching] is like that. Doing it makes me feel better, even if it won’t cure the hangover. _It_ [the habitual regurgitation] is instant gratification. I don’t have to let all the bad feelings linger.” _That sounds so stupid,_ but Bozer nodded again as if he understood.

“How often?” Mac put his hands over his face. This was a humiliating question if ever there was one.

“Three times at most.” _Usually._

“A month?” Bozer asked, perpetual optimism tracing his features, but Mac’s guilty face gave the answer away. “A week?” _Warmer._ “A day?” _And we have a winner._ “Oh, Mac,” pity radiated from his friend. _Pity means you’re pathetic._ “Where do you find the time? It’s no wonder I never see you anymore.” A look of realization filled Bozer’s face, “Whenever you go to work in the garage, are you ever actually doing any work?” _Not really._

“Oh, god.” Bozer put his hands to his head in distress. “What have you done to yourself?” Mac knew that question was rhetorical, but he still felt the need to answer it. 

“I never meant for  _it_ [the dates with his gag reflex] to escalate like this,” he tried to explain, but what rationality could be applied to something so emotional? Mac knew he wasn’t behaving rationally, but nevertheless, binging and purging and fasting and exercising all made sense to him. It seemed right even if, at least a part of him, knew it was wrong. “It wasn't supposed to end up this way."

“Unfortunately, _it_ [whatever  _it_ was] did."

"Anymore questions?" Mac redirected the conversation before things got too psychological. He didn't need Bozer looking too deeply in his brain. He already, reluctantly, had a psychologist for that. 

"Why do you keep _it_ [the "re-purposed" food] in the garage?”

“You sure have a lot of questions.” 

“You asked if I had more.”  **But I didn't want anymore.** "So, why the garage?"

“I just haven’t gotten a chance to get rid of _it_ [the barf] yet. It’s not like I’m keeping the bags as mementos.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“I’ll get rid of it it [the pukey pukey puke] is not that big of a deal.”

“It [the spewing] isn’t normal, Mac.” _You’re not normal._ “Why don’t you just throw up in the bathroom?”

“I didn’t want you to hear.” **Plus, it’s easier to not have to move after a binge and being able just to take care of it right then and there. It’s quick and breezy.** _No one was ever supposed to find out. Bozer is going to run his mouth to everyone. You need to contain the secret._ “You can’t tell anyone, Boze.”

“I’m not going to lie to keep your secret, especially when _it_ [everything] is hurting you.”

“Telling people isn’t going to make my life any easier.”

“Fine, but I’ll only keep this quiet if you promise to stop.” _Yeah, right._

 _Don’t make this seem too easy, Mac. Resist a little. Then, you can spin a lie._ “Bozer,” he argued, “please don’t ask me to do that.”

“Mac, I have to. I’ll help you however I can, but you need to stop, or I’ll go to someone who can make you stop.”

“The grim reaper?” Mac asked with a laugh, a dark tone to his voice. It was meant as a joke, but to Mac, it felt like him and his toxic relationship with food were married until death do they part.

“That’s not funny, man. You can’t continue as you are.”

“Why can’t I?” It was Mac’s turn for questions now.

“Because you’ll die if you do. You know how dangerous what you’re doing is, don’t you?” **Of course.** _Dangerous? You’re fine. Everyone just likes to be dramatic. Don’t let them convince you that balancing your bad habits is itself a bad habit._

“I try not to think about _it_ [the consequences]”

“You need to start, okay? Think about your life, Mac. Do you want it to end like this?” _I can think of worse ways to die. At least you’ve cut down some of the chunkiness. You’d fit better in the coffin, that’s for sure._

“Okay, okay I’ll try to stop, but in exchange, you need to pretend you don’t know anything about this. You need to go on with your life and pretend this was all just a dream.”

“Are you crazy?” _Yes._ “I can’t do that. _It_ [Mac’s disregard for his own well-being] is too serious to pretend away.”

“I just need you not to bring  _it_  [the.. _s_ _hhhhh_... eating disorder] up. When you feel the need to say something, don’t.”

“I won’t air your dirty laundry in front of our friends or your dad, but if you think I’m not going to call you on your bullshit, you’re wrong. That starts now, Mac.” Bozer pointed to the bags of food hidden poorly behind the end table. “Were you going to…” he trailed off. "You were."

“Maybe I could just do _it_ [take a trip to disgusting-piece-of-shit vomit town] one last time? Just this once and then I won’t do _it_ [ibid] again.” _I’ve never seen something so pitiful. You're actually pleading to puke. How sick is that? Sicker than your bags of vomit, that's for sure._

Bozer scoffed. “I’m not going to just be like, ‘Yeah, go right on ahead. Eat it all and puke it up."

“Well, I already bought to food, and I won’t eat it otherwise, so it would be wasteful not to do anything with it.” _Yeah, because what you do isn’t at all wasteful._

“Okay, we’ll get rid of all the food that might tempt you, keep it all out of the house, and then, you won’t have to worry about _it_ [the so-called nourishment].” **That doesn’t leave a lot** _and won’t solve the problem. An addict always finds a way._

“I don’t want you to sacrifice the things you like because I can’t control myself.”

“Don’t worry about me, Mac. Just tell me what I need to do to help.” **Let me have my final binge.**

“I just need patience.” _And a nice refreshing purge._ Because  _it_ [the thing Mac couldn't just quit] was so intrusive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here the big Bozer chapter is! I'll be busy this week which either means I'll ignore my responsibilities and write to distract myself from the stress, or I'll not have time to write much. We'll see what happens. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed this (Mac sure didn't), and fingers crossed I'll have a new chapter soon. Thanks for reading xxx


	19. Riot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you feel  
> So empty  
> So used up  
> So let down  
> If you feel   
> So angry  
> So ripped off  
> So stepped on  
> You’re not the  
> Only one”

**Phoenix Foundation Training Room: Mac’s getting his ass kicked**

Desi was a badass, no one could deny that, but so was Mac, which was why the two loved challenging each other. Sometimes it was who could drink the most hot sauce, or knock out the most bad guys, but today, they were training (aka seeing who the better fighter was).

Sparring was not easy on an empty stomach, but Mac was doing his best to prove he could handle himself against Desi, who had been getting the best of him all day. Mac’s bones, joints, muscles, and whatever body parts were left ached, but he was used to that. He seemed to ache all the time. He didn’t even need to do anything for that deep ache to make his body feel like lead. And he was tired with the kind of fatigue that sleep nor caffeine could fully fix. Still, he wasn’t going to give up.

Sweat dampened Mac’s golden hair and gray shirt.  **Desi is not taking it easy on me today.** Except, she probably was. He’d seen her pulling punches and moving more slowly to give him a chance to get some punches in. For once, Mac was having trouble challenging her when he usually knew exactly how to use her weaknesses to his advantage. He felt like a kid brother trying to keep up with his older sister, and he hated how small it made him feel and not small in a _I’m small because I’m not a fat piece of lard_ kind of way, but in a **I’m an utterly worthless piece of shit** way.  

 **I should be better at this** , he thought.

While Mac preferred explosives, he also prided himself on being able to handle bad guys with just his bare hands. Theoretically, he could use his knife as a weapon in these circumstances— while small, he knew how to make it lethal— but he preferred to use it only as a tool. After all, he didn’t like to draw blood with his something so precious to him. The bad guys didn’t deserve contact with his precious pocketknife, which had saved Mac’s life more times than he could count. No, the Swiss Army knife was too sacred to be used on people so vile as the ones Mac encountered daily. So, Mac usually just stuck with punches when bad guys came before he could piece together some useful contraption.

Oh, how he missed making those contraptions. It had been too long since Matty had allowed to go on a mission, and he was going stir crazy, which was probably part of the reason Desi had suggested they do some training, dragging Mac away from filler work Matty have given him after he’d been so bored that he stormed through the large stack of work on his desk in just a few hours as Desi watched him from her desk. Desi would have been impressed if Mac’s pent up need to physically do something wasn’t radiating from him like heat from the sun.

Desi and Mac’s dynamic when it came to physical challenges had always been more or less equal. Sometimes, Mac would win while other times Desi would win. They both hated losing but they also both loved the challenge. It was a game to see who could win on any given day, one they took on with “trash talk” and little jokes, but as they continued to train, Mac realized that Desi was wiping the floor with him even though she was trying not to.

**What changed?** _You let your inner fat kid out and never stuffed him back in his place. You try to deny him, but he always comes back when you’ve had enough of self-discipline._

“You’re taking it easy on me,” he said between ragged breaths after Desi suggested they take a break when she’d taken Mac down for what seemed like the millionth time that day. _You’re so useless._

Desi helped Mac up with a chuckle. “Well, maybe you need to hit the gym,” she joked, breathing steadily. **How is she not even winded? I’m dying.** _You’re weak, undisciplined, fat, and you’re a loser. She’s none of those things._ Her comment should have made Mac laugh. It was just their usual banter, after all, brother-sister teasing that was code for “I love you.” But it made Mac feel insecure because all the bitter, annoying thoughts he had about himself were reaffirmed. _You’re fat, lazy, ugly, stupid, annoying, worthless_ (because Mac had conditioned himself to believe that those things were inextricable, at least when they were applied to himself, not so much other people).

Beyond the slight pang of hurt, Desi’s comment made an inexplicable rage seethe in the pit of Mac’s stomach where breakfast and lunch should have been. **Oops. Guess I should’ve had something.** _I’m surprised Bozer didn’t force you to have something. He’s been watching you like a hawk. You haven’t been able to purge all week. No wonder you can’t be Desi. You’re being forced to let go of yourself. Look what happens when you let get things spiral out of control. You need to get things back to normal. Be sneaky if you have to. “Maybe you need to hit the gym,” she said. Well, I say that maybe you need to hit the toilets; either your meal or life has to go down it. It’s your choice._

The more Mac thought about Desi’s words, the worse he felt about himself and the angrier he got. He wanted to start throwing glass plates against the wall, scream at the ceiling, and punch the matted floor. He wanted to make noise, cause a fuss, and tear the whole damn world apart. There was no real reason for him to be that mad. Maybe all that coffee he had been drinking had replaced his blood with bitterness.

**How dare she say that to me? I work so hard. I run at least five miles a day, I do push-ups, sit-ups, chin-ups, press-ups—all the ups I can do— but here she is just trying to kick me down. I work so hard, and I don’t deserve this. What is all this work for if I’m still a weakling?** _Boy Wonder, you’re a weakling because you only put half the work in. You do what I say, and then you go and binge, ruining all that hard work. Don’t you see? It’s not the diet or the exercise that’s the problem. The problem is your inability to stick to it. It’s no one’s fault but your own that you constantly fail._ **It’s not fair. It shouldn’t be this hard. I shouldn’t be so stressed all the time. I shouldn’t hate my life. I don’t want to be like this anymore.** _But you are this way. You’re a hideous monster with no redeemable qualities. No matter how hard you try, you won’t be able to make yourself into anything, but that doesn’t mean you can stop trying. If you keep doing well, eventually, you’ll have something close to worth. If you give up, you’ll have nothing._

Mac’s thoughts were a cyclical war against himself, one that had no winner.  Punches were thrown and dodged. There were kicks and cheap shots and knives and guns and bombs, but there was never a KO. The fight was constant, never any time to take a sip of water let alone breathe. It was hard to quit a war against yourself. You can’t wave a white flag. You can’t write a treaty. You can’t even take a side. Because it’s all you, and the causalities are all you too.  You’re all alone, fighting a battle, not sure how you want it to end. All you know is that something needs to change or else none of you can remain. **What happened to the person I used to be? What happened to being likeable, confident, and smart?**

Mac didn’t want to live the way he was, but he also didn’t want to quit. It was safer to keep on as though things were normal, even if it was taking everything he loved and every part of his personality away.

The more Mac thought, the more helpless he began to feel, and the more helpless he began to feel, the more he wanted to externalize his rage. There were no plates to throw, so he would have to settle for words.

Desi, unfortunately, was the one who had to witness the culmination of his internal monologue. “Why is whatever I do never enough? I run five miles each morning if not more, and then, I spend hours in the gym, but that doesn’t seem to do anything for me. I’m careful with my diet and work hard to be healthy, but I’m apparently still a loser fatass, so what’s even the point? Go ahead and laugh because I’m used to being mocked.”

“Mac, I didn’t mean it that way,” she tried, too shocked to say much else. “I only meant it as a joke.”

Mac wasn’t done. “I’m not an idiot. I can read behind the lines. I know how much of a loser I am. I know how you all hang around only because you pity me and are too nice to kick me out of your lives. You just don’t want to be responsible for what would happen if I was left all alone. Plus, you used to be nice to me because I helped the team, so you needed to stay on my good side, but now, I can’t even do that. I’m basically dead weight.” _A lot of dead weight._

“You— what?” Desi struggled for words, feeling unequipped for the conversation ahead. She wasn’t good with feelings, especially when they seemed so severed from logic. She shook her head in disbelief. “You can’t think that’s true.”

“Well, you’re certainly not all sticking around because I’m fun to be with.”

“You are fun to be with, Mac.”

“I’m not, though. I’m here but not really. I’m just an empty vessel.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, but we’re your friends, which means we like being around you. We don’t have some secret agenda.” It was the first time Mac had heard Desi say out loud that they were friends, but the special moment flew right over his head as paranoia surged through his brain. _You can’t believe her. They all just want something from you. They meddle and interfere with you life not because they care but because they’re trying to sabotage you. It’s a game to them. They can’t possibly like you, Mac. You don’t even like yourself._ **Why would anyone care about me? I don’t deserve their love. I don’t deserve anyone’s love.** _We don’t always get what we deserve. I deserve a good, stable brain, but unfortunately, I’m stuck in yours._

“I’m not sure what I meant either,” he said quietly, regretting already his outburst, “I’m sorry I said all that.” Though, the thing was that while he regretted letting his temper burn, it felt good to not keep everything locked within himself because most of the time it felt like everything he did was trapped within his own body, unable to interact with the rest of the world, which was why his outburst was a much needed break, but that didn’t stop Mac from hating that he needed it. **I shouldn’t need anything other than myself.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, hope you enjoyed this. Mac's so mean to himself. I really wish he didn't have to deal with that pesky voice that is gas lighting him and making him doubt himself in general. 
> 
> I'm interested in Desi as a character and wanted to explore her relationship with Mac a little bit. I also want do some more with Riley and Matty a little later, Riley especially because I love her character but haven't been able to put her in as much as I would've hoped. That's all for now. Thanks for reading xxx


	20. Nothing Scares Me Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Been living in a darked up paradise  
> Hate to say I’ve been fooled all this time  
> If I don’t get out again alive  
> At least you’ll know I really tried”

**The Phoenix Foundation: BORING, BORING, BORING**

Mac’s stomach grumbled. It was (slightly past) lunch time, and Mac had actually packed a meal, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to eat it yet, which, for once, wasn’t for lack of effort. He’d been trying to escape the careful gaze of his friends for almost an hour to little avail. Eating was a private endeavor.

He was willing to eat (and probably then throw up) but had performance anxiety when he tried to eat in front of other people. He hated feeling judged by them as he imagined what they would think, _they’ll laugh at you for being corpulent, greedy, and gluttonous. They’ll wonder why the fat boy is stuffing his face._ **Yeah, because chicken and rice is so fattening,** Mac thought sarcastically. _Everything’s fattening when you’re fat. Plus, carbs and protein with no vegetables in sight is utterly repulsive._ Mac hadn’t had time to measure and cut the vegetables he’d planned on eating, so he decided that he could just go without, determining that while doing so may be less healthy, it would also make the meal slightly less calories, which was always a win. Eating disorder equations of logic were shockingly complex.

Food didn’t seem particularly appetizing to Mac, but he knew the nauseating knots in his stomach were from hunger, meaning the only way to cure them was to fight his body’s instincts of not eating because of nausea (and that stupid little voice in his head) and force food down his throat. At least Bozer wasn’t there to make things worse. Mac only had Riley, and kind of Desi, who kept watching Mac without saying anything, to deal with.

For the past several weeks, Bozer had been hovering around Mac like a bee to honey, buzzing in his ear about why he should eat and why he shouldn’t throw up, so Mac was relieved that Bozer had been sent to pose as a married couple with Leanna on a mission to catch the mastermind of an adoption scam. Since Matty had sidelined Mac indefinitely, the team was frequently fragmented to go on missions, which caused guilt to build in Mac’s chest. _You’re destroying the whole team._ He hadn’t been out of California in nearly a month and between staying in one place for too long and Bozer being every place he went, Mac was bound to lose his cool (again) soon.

The best thing about Boze being gone was that Mac had more chances to purge. Though, he hadn’t had as many opportunities as he had hoped because even from a distance, Bozer was doing his best to monitor Mac. Mac was sure Bozer had told the team to babysit Mac, warning them that Mac wasn’t doing well without telling them why.

Today, Riley was serving as Bozer’s spy with Desi serving as backup. Mac needed them to leave him alone for just a little while so that he could eat and get rid of his lunch. The lunch situation was getting urgent, and Mac was growing increasingly restless, fidgeting in his chair and forcing him to read a report he’d already gone over thoroughly.

His head was floaty, and he needed something in his stomach, even if it was just temporarily there.

“Shouldn’t you be hanging around all the other computer nerds, Riles?” Mac asked her with a playful smile as she clacked on her keyboard, watching him from the corner of her eye, which was unnecessary given that Desi, who had gotten front row seats to Mac’s madness, had been almost as clingy as Bozer since Mac’s outburst. Desi had also toned down the teasing, which actually had a negative effect on Mac because he felt like his craziness had ruined the banter-driven rapport they had created. Desi was no longer acted like Desi when she was around him, and Mac hated himself for ruining everything good that ever happened in his life. _You’re such a dramatic bastard._

“Nah, it’s a lot more interesting here with you, the biggest science nerd,” Riley tried to play it off as light hearted but it came off as forced. Mac wasn’t going to drop the charade.

“Oh yeah, so exciting. Me, writing a thrilling report on a terrorist sect in Turkey.” _You’re not writing anything. You’re just reading, dumbass._ **Well, I should be writing the report.** _Matty’s just giving you busy work anyway, so it doesn’t much matter._

Riley dragged out a small chuckle from the top of her throat and it sounded a bit like a strained shriek. “Our jobs aren’t as glamourous as they seem.”

“Definitely not,” Mac agreed. “We spend much of our time being the most bored people on Earth.” **BORED, BORED, BORED!**

“That’s for sure.” Riley agreed said before changing the subject. Now they were getting to the real meat of the conversation, the thing that had been rearing its head as they tried to make pleasant conversation that normally would have come naturally. _Another relationship you’ve ruined._ “Hey, Mac, you know you can talk to me if you ever need to, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” _But you know better than to open your big, stupid mouth._

Riley didn’t give up. “You don’t have to act like you have everything under control all the time. It’s okay to break down sometimes. You were there for me when I lost it over Billy, so I owe you one anyway.”

“Riles, you don’t owe me anything. Of course, I was there for you when that piece of shit broke your heart. Being there for the rough patches is what makes it a friendship rather than a mere acquaintanceship.”

“Yeah, you’re right as usual, genius. Have you ever tried taking your own advice?”

“Occasionally, but you know me, I love to wing it and hope for the best. I don’t always listen to reason” _Which is why you can never get it right. You make a plan but waver._

“Maybe you should try trusting yourself.”

“I do,” he insisted. **But I don’t. I mess everything up. Trusting myself is a gamble.**

“Only when you’re building some contraption to save the day, but even then you put yourself last. You’re more confident in a face off against a bomb than one with your own feelings.” _Ouch. She’s got you there._

“Now’s not really the time to get into this. We have more important matters to deal with.” **Like my grumbling stomach.** _It always comes back to your hunger._

“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Mac.”

“I don’t have it in me to talk about this right now.”

“Fine,” Riley crossed her arms, “but just think about what I said.”

“Sure,” Mac replied agreeably, letting the conversation fell into a lull. Mac certainly wasn’t going to make any attempts to revive it. If Riley wanted to hang around that was fine by him, but he wasn’t going to encourage her, not when he had important matters to take care of. _Important? You think being a dumbass with food is important? You’re crazier than I thought._  

He just wanted to eat the 2 ounces of grilled chicken and 45 grams of rice he had packed for his lunch, but even that was complicated by his inability to eat due to the feeling of being watched. It was silly; no one was going to judge him for having lunch. Most of the people in the office ate lunch and worse lunches at that—pizza, fast food, street food— but it was different for them. They weren’t _useless pieces of shit._

Frustration was building in Mac to the point that it felt like it would consume him entirely. **I’m just an angry ball of human, feeling angry all the time over nothing in particular.** Why were things so hard? Every meal felt like a disaster, he couldn’t go a day without telling a lie, and he couldn’t do it anymore. He needed everything to just disappear for a while. **My life is a mess, and I can’t even wreck it in peace. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.** _Stop being so whiny. You don’t have it that bad. You’re fucking annoying but fine. It’s a wonder that your friends care for you. I can’t figure out why. You’re the b-i-g-g-e-s-t nuisance to ever exist._

 **Since I can’t eat, I guess I’ll just top off on coffee.** He stood and as he began to walk towards the coffee pot, black began to swallow his vision until he couldn’t see anything at all. His foot hit something— a bump in the floor, an edge of a desk, an invisible wall— and Mac fell to the floor, and before he could make sense of what was happening to him, he heard Riley’s voice in his ear, blurred by the frantic thoughts surging through his head. _What just happened? What are you going to do? They’re going to think that you’re fucked up. They’ll make you see a doctor. Do you need to see a doctor? Maybe but the doctor will reveal too much._ Collapsed and blind on the floor of his work, all Mac could think was, **I wish I’d had my lunch.**

_  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've been very busy but I really wanted to write for fun (instead of eight million papers) so I squeezed this into my schedule! Hope you enjoyed this. Thanks for reading xxx


	21. Between the Bars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “People you’ve been before  
> That you don’t want around anymore  
> That push and shove and won’t bend to your will  
> I’ll keep them still.”

**Phoenix Foundation: Not so boring anymore**

“Can you stand?” Riley asked, crouching down next to Mac who was still in a heap on the floor. His vision had yet to clear but he could feel the eyes of his coworkers burning into his back. _They’re all staring at you thinking you’re a freak._ “You need to get to medical.” Mac fumbled to his feet, shrugged off Riley’s grip on his arm, and dropped into the nearest chair. **I need to get my act together and my story straight.**

“I’m fine. I just need to rest a minute,” Mac protested. A doctor might find things wrong with him that he couldn’t easily explain away. He needed to somehow convince the people around him that he was peachy and that whatever just happened was an anomaly.

Riley gave Mac a stern look. “You passed out.” Just as quickly as it had gone, Mac’s vision returned, showing the concerned faces of Riley and Desi.  Now, he had to try to play the whole thing off as if it were a freakish fluke instead of an inevitable consequence of his self-destructive actions. He’d had moments like this before, where black spots would fill his vision until his head steadied, but he’d never completely lost his vision like that before.

He should have been scared. Going blind, if only for a few seconds, should have terrified him to the point that he snapped out of his eating disorder induced fugue, but honestly, he wasn’t worried about his health. If anything, the failure of his body gave him a morphed kind of happiness; it was a sign that he was doing something right. _You’re finally starting to see results. This just shows you that you’re doing something right. It takes pain to get better, but you just have to hold on._

Truthfully, the only thing that worried Mac was getting caught because he didn’t want to stop. Stopping wasn’t an option he was willing to consider because he was nothing without this thing in his head telling him what to do. **I need to keep going no matter what happens to me.**

Mac rolled his eyes at Riley’s implication. “I didn’t pass out.” He’d never actually lost consciousness, so he didn’t think what just happened to him could actually be considered passing out. He had simply fallen.

“Then what do you call what just happened, Egghead?” Desi cut in, hiding her worry under her usual sarcastic lilt.

“I just couldn’t see for a second, and I tripped. That’s all. Everything’s better now.” **I can see clearly now the black is gone.**

“That’s not nothing, Mac. Something’s obviously wrong, and you need to get checked out.” Desi’s voice was emotionless. If Mac didn’t know any better he would have thought she was just trying to uphold her promise to Jack.

“I just need to sit down a second.”

“Maybe you’re fine,” Riley said, “but what if you’re not? Wouldn’t you rather know than to take a chance on your life?”

“Don’t make it sound so dire.”

“Come on, Mac. It won’t take long, but you need to be checked out,” Desi tried to persuade. Her gentle tone was unnerving.

Riley nodded in agreement. “You need a doctor. Don’t make me bring Matty down here.”

“You’re both making a much too big of a deal out of this.”

“Maybe,” Riley shrugged, “but it can’t hurt to get it checked out.” **I’m not getting out of this.** _Fine. Go see the doctor, but you better watch what you say. Don’t let what you do to yourself be obvious because while making yourself throw up is the right thing for you to be doing, the doctor won’t understand that. Just like your friends won’t understand. Secrets are secret for a reason._

* * *

 

 

**Phoenix Medical: After some tests**

“Mr. MacGyver, how are you feeling?” Dr. Nestor asked with a small smile.

“Please, call me Mac,” he began. “I’m feeling good. Ready to get out of here.”

“Mac, I’m just going to go over some of your test results.” He looked at Riley, who had waited patiently the entire time Mac had been there. It was easy for her to stay because as long as she had a computer, she could work from nearly anywhere.

“Do you want to talk about this in private?” **I’m not that sick so it’s not like there’s anything he can reveal. He’s probably just going to say I’m dehydrated and send me on my way. She can stay.** _That’s a gamble. Just send her away. Just in case this doctor isn’t a complete idiot._ **But then she’ll think I’m trying to hide something. It’s better I let her stay.** Truthfully, Mac just didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to scare Riley away because then she might take that as a message to stay away for good. _That’s silly._

“It’s fine. She can stay.” _Idiot. I hate when you choose the wrong option just because you’re afraid of being alone._

“Well, I’d like to get to the bottom of some of your symptoms. Most notably, you’re hypotensive and your electrolyte levels are off balance, which we really need to get in check, so I’m going to keep you here overnight so we can make sure you’re stabilized as well as hydrating you.”

“What does that all mean?” Riley asked before Mac could explain to the doctor that he didn’t need to stay overnight. “I mean, what’s wrong with him?”.

“Well, it could a number of things, which is why I want to maybe do a few more tests as well as asking you a few questions to see if we can clear things up.” Dr. Nestor said a little cryptically, giving Mac a look that suggested he had suspicions about what was really up with Mac. _Fuck, you should have had Riley leave instead of being so needy._ “First off, have you had any dietary changes lately?”

Mac looked down at his hands. “Not really,” Mac said with a half-shrug.

“You haven’t been eating well lately, Mac,” Riley reminded him.

“Any particular reason for you not eating?”

“I eat. I’ve just been busy lately, so I forget about meals sometimes. It’s not a big deal. I’ve had bigger things on my mind.”

“You’ve lost a considerable amount of weight, Mac. I’m worried malnutrition might be causing some of your problems.” _No, no, no. You can’t let this happen, especially not in front of Riley._

“I eat plenty.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

It took Riley a moment to process what the doctor was saying, eyes growing big as she sorted it all out, “Wait, you’re saying he is malnourished? How can that be?”

“It seems that way, and I’d like to figure out why so we can get Mac the help he needs.” _Help, he thinks you need help._

Mac shook his head, trying to play the “I don’t know what is going on with me” act. “That can’t be. I eat a lot. I have like six meals a day.” _Only on days when you binge._

“That may be, but nutrition is about more than quantity. You also have to be eating the right amount of nutrients or else you can still be malnourished.”

“I take vitamins.” Though, he’d been skipping them a lot lately because he was paranoid that they had hidden calories.

“You also need food,” Dr. Nestor answered. “To be at peak functioning, you need all the macronutrients as well as micronutrients, and it’s best if you can get these things through your regular diet.”

“There’s no way I’m not eating enough food.” _Even with puking you’re still eating enough to be your usual fat pig self._

“Well, you need to be eating more, now especially, because we need to get your weight up. Low body weight can be jus as dangerous, if not more dangerous, than being overweight.” _He’s lying. He’s just trying to make you a worthless whale._

“That doesn’t make sense.” He wasn’t sure which part of the doctor’s spiel he was referring to, but something seemed off with what the doctor was saying. The patient that was being described couldn’t possibly be Mac. “I’m fine.”

“Clearly, you’re not,” Riley interrupted, eye stormy. **Is she mad at me?**

“I don’t see a problem,” Mac said, as stubborn as ever.

 “That’s your problem,” Riley said shortly. Her eyes were watery, and Mac hated to think her emotional state was his fault. _Everything’s your fault, dummy. You should know that by now._

“I hope I can show you the seriousness of what’s been happening to your body.” Not _you_ but _your body._ Dr. Nestor couldn’t fix him. He could only tell Mac what was going wrong in his body, but that thought helped Mac. It felt good to keep his body and his mind separate. They didn’t deserve to be together. Dr. Nestor looked at Mac with grim eyes. “Mac, do you know what Russel’s sign is?” _Yes, it’s a sign of how fucked up and lazy you are. It shows that you only ever take shortcuts._

 **I think we better make this conversation private after all**. He needed a way to get Riley out ASAP. She was already upset, and the way the conversation was going, Mac was only going to cause her more distress. “Riles this is going to get boring. Why don’t you go take break? I’ll be fine.”

Her voice was calmer, “Mac, I don’t mind, really.” _Wow, isn’t it hard having a loving friend who will sit by you through anything and can’t taking a fucking hint?_

“Please, just go for a while,” Mac insisted, a frustrated edge to his voice.

Riley looked surprised at his tone but didn’t put up a fuss. She nodded, beginning to vacate the room. “I’ll just get a coffee and be back soon, okay Mac?”

“See you then,” Mac replied politely, watching his friend leave him with Dr. Nestor. When he was sure Riley was gone, Mac turned his attention to the doctor. “This really isn’t a conversation I want to have.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be, but see those marks on your knuckles? They call that Russel’s sign, which suggests chronic vomiting. Do you ever make yourself throw up, Mac?” It was a question, but Mac knew it was a formality more than anything. _Don’t make his job easy. If you admit what you’ve been doing, he’ll make your life hard. Denial is the best option._

“I don’t do that.” It was a lame attempt he knew. Even the air vent could tell he was lying as it kicked on, sending cool air into the already too cool room. Mac wrapped his blanket tighter around him, but it wasn’t enough.

“It’s a pretty warm day,” the doctor said casually. “But you still can’t seem to get warm. Is it always like that for you?” Mac was all about the layered looks, now more than ever. Thankfully, his leather jacket was fairly warm. Though, not even California’s sunniest days seemed warm enough.

“Maybe I just have a cold.”

“Doesn’t seem that way to me, but as I was saying, Russel’s sign and your other symptoms are consistent with an eating disorder. I’ll ask again. Do you ever make yourself throw up, Mac?” _This asshole won’t leave you alone. He’s almost as bad as your friends._

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I said no. Obviously, my first response to that question meant nothing to you,” Mac said tightly.

The doctor kept on with his questions, seeming unphased by Mac’s hostility. “Do you have a fear of gaining weight?”

“Doesn’t everyone? Of course, I don’t want to be fat.”

“Do you see yourself as obese.” Mac didn’t know how to answer that honestly because even if he was in the mood to be honest, he wasn’t sure what he would say. _Yes._ **Sometimes.** Logically, Mac knew wasn’t obese, but when he looked in the mirror, all he could see was problem areas, places that needed toning or slimming down.

“I know I’m not obese.”

“Knowledge and self-perception are two very different things.”

“We all have problem areas,” he said not committing one way or the other.

“Do you ever fast or restrict how much you’re eating?”

“Again, doesn’t everyone?”

“I’m going to ask one more time: are you fat?” The bluntness struck Mac, especially the word fat, a word that entered his brain far too often, filling him with self-hatred. Obese and fat were two different things. Obese was clinical while fat was an insult. Clinical was neat, orderly. Insults were messy, chaotic. Obese merely had to do with weight while fat was _shameful, gross, unsightly, undisciplined, repulsive, unlovable._

There was no safe answer. _Dr. Nestor will laugh at you if you don’t think of yourself as fat. He’ll get a kick out of your ignorance, your inability to accurately analyze yourself. There’s nothing funnier than a fat person not realizing they’re fat._ **But if I say yes it will reaffirm his suspicions.** _But saying no will hurt your pride._

“Yes,” Mac finally whispered because what was the point in lying? Besides, the voice was right, it was a matter of pride. To admit that he wasn’t fat, would feel like pretending not to be a fan of celebrity while wearing a t-shirt with their face. There was nothing worse than getting caught up in your own lie and trying to deny it away while the evidence was still on full display. Mac couldn’t win.

Dr. Nestor nodded sympathetically. “Okay, Mac,” he said, looking down at his chart, “based on your weight, answers to my questions, and other symptoms, I believe you have anorexia nervosa.”  Mac felt sick. The doctor had to be playing a cruel trick on him. _He’s mocking you. Being ironic. How’s it feel to be living joke?_

“That can’t be. I’m not that thin. There are still places where I’m fat.” _You’re too ugly and fat for an eating disorder._ “Plus, I don’t starve myself all the time. There are times when I eat a lot. Obviously, I can’t have _that.”_

Dr. Nestor patted Mac on the arm. “I know you may think that’s the case, but these disorders are very complex, and diagnosis can be confusing. But trust me, you meet the criteria of anorexia nervosa purging subtype, which is why it’s urgent that we get you into a program to get you back to being healthy. I’ll have a nurse bring you some pamphlets with treatment options later. Does that sound okay?” _No._

“I don’t want pamphlets, and I don’t to start some treatment program. I already have a therapist.”

“That’s good, but I think you may want a higher level of care.”

“What does that mean?”

“At the very least, I think you need to seriously consider an intensive outpatient program, but residential treatment may be what’s best for you right now if you need the extra support.”

“I don’t need extra support. I may sometimes have trouble controlling myself around food, but it’s not that bad. It’s not a disorder. I could stop if I wanted.” He shrugged, “I just don’t want to.”

“Okay, Mac. I’m not going to force anything onto you, but if you ever want to get back into the field, you need to get healthy again.” _Of course, they’d try using that ploy on you. It’s so transparent. They know how much being in the field means to you, and they’re weaponizing it. Don’t let it get to you, Mac. They’re just trying to punish you for wanting better for yourself. They’re against you. They’re trying to manipulate you and force you to act the way they want but don’t forget you have autonomy. Whatever you do, it’s up to you. The whole world is sabotaging you, which is why you have to act for yourself and not them. Do what’s best for yourself._

Mac struggled to keep his anger in check. “I am healthy.”

“Not from where I’m standing,” Dr. Nestor said, giving Mac’s arm another pat, and telling Mac he’d be back to check on him later.

* * *

 

Not more than five minutes after the doctor had left, Riley slid back into the room, a coffee in hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed, face streaked and splotchy. “Riles, what’s wrong?” _Like you don’t know. You’re a monster. You upset everyone you know because you can’t keep your shit together._

She opened her mouth to talk, but a hiccup erupted from her throat. Mac felt his heart drop. **This is bad.** _Yeah, dummy, it is._ Riley took a sip of coffee and then a deep breath. “I know what you’ve been doing, Mac. I looked up Russel’s sign.”

“I’m not—” Mac tried, “I don’t have— That’s not me. I just box a lot. So, my knuckles get a little red. That’s all.” She didn’t look like she believed him, but why let the grim truth interfere with a perfectly wonderful lie?

“Mac, are you bulimic?” Riley asked, and the words flipped his gut like a two-ton pancake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So glad to be back on track with writing and being able to publish this chapter. Lots still to go in this journey but progress is being made with some of the characters. I've already begun the next chapter so hopefully that will be out soon for all of you. Also, I have two ideas for the next MacGyver May prompt and I might just give both of them a go because I'm not sure which one I like more! Anyways, thank you all for reading. Hope you enjoy this chapter and stick around for the drama even if Mac is stubborn and doesn't want to stop his behavior. Love you all xxx


	22. Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If we take this moment  
> We can break the loneliness  
> Inside of out bones  
> Inside of our bones.”

**Phoenix Medical: Some more confrontation (yay)**

“Mac, are you bulimic?” Riley had asked, eyes wide. _If only what you have was as simple as being bulimic, but you can’t even have an eating disorder the right way. Even that’s just a big vat of chaos._ **I don’t have—** _oh, save it, Angus. Don’t waste your energy trying to convince yourself. Besides, having something doesn’t make it a problem. You have a lot of problems, but at least you’re less fat than ever._

“The doctor didn’t say I was bulimic.” Mac wasn’t going to lie, but he wasn’t fond of the truth either.

“But you make yourself throw up.” Mac looked down at his hands because he couldn’t stand to look Riley in the eye, not when they were talking about the most humiliating part of his life.

He stared at the purpleness of his fingers. **Why is it so damn cold all the time?** _Pay attention. You have to fix this._ **I’m tired of fixing it. I just want everyone to know so I can stop hiding.** _Yeah? You want them to look at you as a loser who can’t even eat properly? You want them to see you as sick instead of Mac? They’ll only ever see you as mentally unstable if they know the truth. They wouldn’t be wrong, I guess._ **Of course, I don’t want anyone to know the most embarrassing thing about myself, but the truth is already out there. All my lies are running away from me, and there’s not much I can do to stop them. It’s inevitable that they’ll know the truth, but that doesn’t mean I have to change anything. I can keep on like this whether they approve or not.** _Don’t be naïve, MacGyver. They aren’t going to let you do what needs to be done. They’ll try to convince you that you’re sick and need to get better. They’ll watch you and they’ll pressure you. They’ll make things so hard for you._ **Things are already hard.** _Which is why you can’t let them get any harder. Spare your own sanity._

“The doctor doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just scaring you by throwing around words that make things seem different than they are. He’s worrying you over nothing and I’m sorry about that but he’s obviously being paranoid.” He put his hand on hers. “Don’t worry, Riley. I’m not sick.”

“Maybe you can’t see it, but you aren’t okay. Do you know how worried we all are? We’ve all been trying to figure out what’s up with you, and to find out you’ve been making yourself throw up is... Mac, if you don’t stop, you’re going to die.” _Oh, she’s trying to use the death tactic. You better not let it work. She’s being dramatic. Continuing our methods won’t kill you. It will save you. Don’t let her fool you. They’re all just trying to control you and get you to do what they want. You’re your own person. You decided your own fate._

“I wish people would stop telling me I’m in danger. I’m not an idiot. I know that people need food. I know that what I’m doing is disgusting.”

“That’s not what—”

“It’s not like I enjoy this. My whole life revolves around this stupid thing in my head, and it’s a very lonely existence. Every time a social function comes up, I feel the need to runaway because there’s always food. Why does every human active involve food? Do people ever stop eating? I can answer: No. Everywhere I go there’s food, and it makes my heart beat fast and my head debate. I can’t even look at coffee without thinking of how I could use it as a tool in not eating, and whenever I see ice cream, I think ‘Easy to vomit.’ I know it’s not normal. I hate that I keep making the same dumb mistakes, but what am I supposed to do? I can’t just give up. It’s such a big part of me and I’ve forgotten who I am without it. I need it because it’s the only lifeline I have left. I’m so lost and it helps me find my way, even if it’s the wrong. It hurts to be hungry, and it hurts to puke, but I can’t stop. I have to keep going. I don’t know if it will ever help, but I can’t quit before I get what I want,” he wanted to say, but that would be too honest. _Too crazy._ “I wouldn’t expect you to understand why I’m like this, but I don’t feel the need to change. It’s easier if we all just pretend, I’m fine.”

A tear rolled down Riley’s face and she quickly wiped it away, hoping Mac wouldn’t see. “Please, just try to get better.”

“I don’t think it gets better.

“It can. Mac, it really can. Don’t you want to get your life back? Aren’t you sick of feeling sick?” The thing was, Mac didn’t feel sick. He felt awful sometimes, but it wasn’t like having the flu. It was rewarding. It felt clean to be empty. Puking felt like dusting off the cobwebs in his brain.

“This is my life now.”

“It’s not.”

“It is,” he replied petulantly, wishing the room was warmer. He felt so cold. Mostly, he felt alone. Even with Riley there, he felt disconnected from other humans, and he wasn’t sure how he’d ever get back to being part of the world instead of just a bystander in it.

Riley sighed, not having the energy to continue their conversation. She looked more tired than Mac had ever seen her. _Look at you draining the life out of her._ “I need to go call Boze and update him. Matty, Desi, and your dad should all be dropping by at some point. I’ll be back in soon.” _Oh, good, you can drain the life out of them too. Your dad’s already halfway there hehehe._

“Did you tell them what’s wrong with me?”

“I don’t want to keep secrets.” **Bozer hadn’t wanted to either but he had and will probably regret it.** _He’s probably going to find out that you’re still puking and, on top of that, eating less to make up for times when you can’t puke. He’s going to be so disappointed in you. He’ll never trust you again. You don’t deserve anyone’s trust._

“He thinks I’ve stopped.”

“Who?”

“Boze. Maybe you could tell him that the damage was from before.”

“Bozer knew?” Riley’s voice went up an octave. “No wonder he kept telling me to look out for you. I didn’t realize… I… never mind.”

“Don’t be mad. He wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want it to be a big deal. It’s my fault”

“I’m not mad, okay? At you or Bozer. I just need a breather.” She fanned herself, “It’s a sauna in here.” Mac pulled his blanket up a little, wondering if it was really that hot or if the emotional wreckage was causing her to overheat. He shivered, and Riley tucked another blanket around him. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

As Riley gave her goodbye, a nurse came in with a tray of food, setting it down in front of Mac. “Dinner is served.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“If you want to get out of here, you’re going to need to have some food.”

Riley paused by the door, “Please eat. You’re already in the hospital. You need to keep your strength up.”

“Weren’t you going to leave?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, “I’m leaving, but I want you to promise you’ll have some food.”

“Don’t worry,” the nurse told her, “It’s a slow night. I’ll sit here and make sure he has his meal.”

Riley nodded, “Okay. Mac, see you soon.”

Mac forced a smile. “See you soon.”

When Riley left, Mac turned to the nurse. “You’re not actually staying, are you?” He looked at his chicken, mash potatoes, green beans, and pudding cup in disbelief. That wasn’t even a balanced meal!  _Disgusting._

“Dr. Nestor wants to make sure you eat before he releases you tomorrow.” _Eat it to get out of here and then do better tomorrow._

“It looks great,” Mac lied. Maybe he could slip some bites into his napkin and hide them beneath his blankets while the nurse wasn’t looking.

* * *

 

**Mac’s House: After being released (finally)**

James had been the one given the task of bringing Mac home from the hospital, and the whole ride he had only made things worse with his attempts at conversation. **At least he’s here. Stay calm or he might go away.**

James words rattled Mac: “Why do you do it?” “It doesn’t make sense that you’ll eat an apple but not a banana.” “How much do you weigh?” “You’re not fat, son.” “Is this about my cancer?” “Is that about me leaving?” “Do you know how worried we all are?” “You’re too old to be playing around with things like this.” “How about I order us pizza for dinner?” Sometimes, James couldn’t help being an asshole, and he certainly had no knowledge of how eating disorders worked because if he did, Mac wouldn’t have been put through one of the most triggering possible car rides. **Not that I can be triggered. I’m fine. His words didn’t bother me. He’s only being honest. All is good here.**

As the car stopped in the driveway, Mac was glad to be home, and away from James’ chatter. He walked on his deck to get some fresh air and as he opened the door, he noticed a crowd of his loved ones gathered around the fire pit, sitting in a circle. _Fuck, you should have noticed the cars but you were too busy denying you have a problem. What is this? An intervention?_ Before he could make sense of any of what he was seeing, he was pulled into a firm hug as a pair of warm arms wrapped around his body more than seemed possible. “Geez, Hoss,” came the smooth drawl, “I can feel your bones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Hope you enjoyed. I'm really excited for the next chapter and hope you all are too. First, I want to get one of my one shots finished up and posted but should be back to this one pretty soon!! Anyways, thanks for being lovely people xxx.


	23. Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve got a warm heart,  
> You’ve got a beautiful brain,  
> But it’s disintegrating from all the medicine.”

  **Mac’s House: The whole gang is here**

As he felt Jack’s arm’s latch around him, Mac’s entire body relaxed into his best friend’s firm embrace, finally able to release a breath he’d been holding for months. _You shouldn’t be so codependent on another person that you can’t relax when they’re gone._ **I’m not codependent. I’m just glad to see my friend during a hard time. There’s nothing wrong with that.** _Whatever you say, Boy Wonder. It’s funny that you think this non-existent problem is serious enough for a visit from Jack. Don’t you understand he has more important things to do than deal with your inability to be a normal human._

Jack squeezed Mac so tightly that it hurt, but Mac wasn’t going to pull away. It felt good to be held, to let someone else support his weight, especially when felt so heavy and tired all the time. There never seemed to be a moment when he could just rest without his mind going at a million miles an hour.

 _You should be angry that he came all the way home to try to fix you,_ but despite his instinct to get angry when confronted, Mac was too happy to see Jack to let the rage he wanted to heat up into a fiery inferno be anything more than the soothing warmth of a space heater. **There is a fine line between comfort and rage.**

Mac dug his face into Jack’s shoulder, trying not to cry at how nice Jack’s musty cologne smelled after months apart (not that Mac would ever admit Handsome Cowboy from Cheap Depot was anything other than an assault on the nostrils), and instead of becoming angry, Mac melted into the hug even more, letting the serene sense of relief fill him as a familiar warmth filled his chest. _You’re getting too comfortable, MacGyver. We both know that comfort leads to slip ups, and once you’re on the slip n’ slide you just keep slipping n’ sliding._

“Jack?” he asked in disbelief that Jack was there in living, breathing color, his face still nuzzled contently against Jack’s shirt that was soft and smelled clean. _Don’t get too comfortable. He’ll be on the next plane back when he realizes how fucked up you are. Even Jack won’t want to deal with your shit. And don’t start crying. You don’t want to dirty his shirt._ “What are you doing here? Did you wrap everything up with Kovacs?”

“Nah, kiddo, Kovacs is still causing chaos, but the team will be fine without me.” Mac noticed that Jack didn’t say “for a little while,” making Mac wonder how long this visit would be. “It was time to come home.” _We both know he only came home because you’re acting like a basketcase and screwing everything up. It’s all your fault that he had to put his professional responsibilities aside, and you’re too selfish to care._

Mac pulled back, speaking softly, “You’re here because of me, aren’t you? Because you don’t have to be. I’m fine, really.” Mac would never say how much he wanted Jack there, how lonely and sad he’d been without him. He had plenty of other people in his life, but nevertheless, there had been an empty spot ever since Jack left, one that didn’t make it any easy to fight his demons. _See, codependent._

“Not everything’s about you, genuis” Jack tried at levity. “It just felt like the right time to come home,” Jack hedges around the truth, and Mac knows it, but he’s grateful that he can pretend that it isn’t him being the destroyer of all his family’s lives. _You’re just lucky Jack came back alive._ Mac shivered at the thought. “Come on,” Jack said leading Mac to a chair by the fire, “Why don’t you sit down and warm up by the fire, so we all can all catch up.” _By catching up, he means trying to fix you. They all know your secret now, and they aren’t going to let you continue the way you were. They’ll try to stop you from doing what you need to do. You can’t let them stop you from making progress. You’ll be an unhappy loser if you don’t listen to me. You’ll never be the person I know you can be._

The others were already seated, so Mac took the empty seat closest to the warmth of the firepit. Jack took the other open chair, moving it to the right so that it was right next to Mac. Mac had a bad feeling that Jack wasn’t going to let him out of his sight for a long time. _Protective Jack mode engaged. That means trouble._

From the other side of the deck, Bozer’s eyes pierced through Mac, looking angrier than seemed possible from Bozer. Leanna had her arm looped around Boze, trying to keep him calm, and apparently, not doing a very good job at it. _Damn, he and Leanna are home. He’s going to be so angry with you for all the lies you’ve told. He’s not stupid. He’s obviously realized that you’re not doing as well as you made it seem._ **He knew I wasn’t better.** _Yeah, but he definitely didn’t know you were worse. You can’t seem to steer yourself away from nasty habits. Your callused, scarred hands show that._

“I’m sure you’re all here for more than a visit, so get on with it.” _Time to rip off the band aid._

Matty began, “Mac, we’re here because we’re concerned.” _Someone’s watched too many episodes of Intervention._

“You don’t need to be,” Mac said, feeling like a broken record. Half of his social interactions were used up trying to convince people that he was fine. **Maybe that means I’m not fine.** _It means you’re a dumb, defensive idiot._

“Angus, you just got out of the hospital. You’re evidently not fine.”

Mac scoffed, “Thanks for the reminder, dad. I didn’t notice.” **The terrible car ride I had to endure with you completely slipped my mind, fading away with all the other hellish memories of the hospital.**

“Mac,” Matty cut in, “the point is that can’t keep neglecting your body.”

“My body is the best that it’s ever been.”

“Yeah?” Bozer asked icily. “What can it do now that it didn’t do before because from where I stand your body won’t do the things you want it to do the most.”

“My body can handle being in the field, Bozer. The problem is that you’re keeping me away because you don’t think I can handle it.”

“Angus, if I were to have you go get your yearly physical right now, I guarantee that the doctor wouldn’t clear you for field work, so if you want to get back to doing what you’re best at, you better make adjustments.” _What you’re best at… see he doesn’t care about you as a son. You only matter as much as you can be an asset. He wants you because you can do things for him, and now, you can’t even do that. What good are you?_ **None.** _Wow, congrats, Mac, you got something right. There’s a first time for everything._

“Nothing’s going to change.”

“Kid, it has to,” Jack said seriously. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Yeah, Einstein,” Desi said, breaking her silence, “Who else do I have to explain things that I have no hope of understanding in this lifetime? We all really need you to be around.”

“Obviously not. You’ve been doing fine without me.”

“Not as fine as you think.” Desi insisted.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway. Nothing’s going to be any different in the future. You can’t make me change. I can’t even make me change.” _Yikes, that’s hopeless, isn’t it? How do you live with yourself? How can you stand being a chronic constant failure?_

Bozer’s eyes blazed. “Yeah, we know, Mac. We know that you’re just going to lie until you’re dead. I asked for honesty. I wasn’t even expecting that you’d just suddenly be okay. I just wanted you to try to get better and make a commitment to stopping, but apparently you couldn’t even give me that.”

“Those words never came out of your mouth,” Mac protested. “You told me I needed to stop.”

“And you told me you would, but you didn’t even try to stop, did you?

Riley shot Bozer a stern look, putting a calming hand on his shoulder and then turning her gaze to Mac, “He’s not blaming you for anything, okay? He’s just frustrated.”

But Bozer wasn’t done, “Do you know how hard this is on all of us? I’ve been dealing with this alone for weeks, Mac. I’ve been hiding it from our family because I didn’t want to push you too hard. I thought it would be easier for you to get better if you didn’t have an audience, but I guess it just makes it easier for you to keep going the way you are. You told me you would stop puking, but apparently, you haven’t. What’s next? Am I going to find more bags of puke in the garage?” Mac’s cheeks flamed.

“Oh, god, Mac,” he heard Jack mutter and then let out an impressively long string of curses.

“You did _what_?” James asked unable to keep the disgust from his voice. Mac curled in on himself, trying to make himself as small in his chair as he could. **I’m disgusting.** _Tell me something I don’t already know._

“Don’t listen to him,” Mac said trying to save face. “Bozer is just being dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic. I’ve seen you at your lowest, Mac, and I hate watching you destroy yourself. I just wish you could snap out of it and see what you’re doing.” **The sad part is that he hasn’t seen me at my lowest. I don’t even know what dignity is anymore.** “Why won’t you do anything to get better?” Bozer deflated, rage fading into a kicked puppy voice that caused Mac to be sick with guilt, guilty enough to feel like a piece of trash but not guilty enough to want to change.

Mac didn’t know what to say anymore. He felt so empty as he watched sparks leap from the fire into the bright California sky and wondered if he touched one if it would burn or if it would spark no reaction at all. In his current state of mind, he wasn’t sure anything short of hell itself could break through the icy numbness. He could feel emotions brewing in the back of his mind, but he was shoving them down, wiping all those things from his mind so that he could be blank, or as blank as a mind like Mac’s could be.

He pushed those feelings in the place where all repressed things went, down at the bottom of the well with his self-preservation and hunger. He needed to eat, but he didn’t want to be full. He didn’t want that feeling of fatness he got whenever he ate, the sense that eating made him instantly fatter. Scientifically, such a feeling wasn’t sound, but that didn’t make it any less pervasive. **But I’m hungry.** _You’re not. Repress it!_

“I shouldn’t have to change, and none of you have the right to tell me how I should live my life. That’s all there is to it.”

“Mac,” Riley said levelly. “We’re not trying to force you into anything, but it’s pretty obvious that you’re not okay, and as your family, we can’t just ignore your eating disorder.” Mac’s head snapped towards her at the words “eating disorder.” Those words made his throat burn. _So much for being numb._

Mac shot from his chair, swaying a little as blood rushed to his head. He closed his eyes to orient himself, and when he opened them, Jack was by his side. _Good old Jack never lets you down._ “Woah, easy does it.” _He treats you like a horse, but I guess that’s better than being treated like a puppy._

“I don’t have an— a disorder.”

Jack pushed him back into his chair, “We don’t have to label it if you don’t want, but I’ll be damned if I let you go down without a fight. We’re in this together, Hoss, just like we’ve always been.”

“I know this may seem confrontational to you, Blondie, but we’re all here because you have a big support system who will do whatever needs to be done to give you what you need.”

Riley nodded. “They’re right. You’re not alone. If the situation was reversed, you know you wouldn’t stand by while any of us self-destructs, which is why we’re here whether you like it or not.”

Mac sighed, feeling resigned. “What do you want from me? What would make you happy?”

“All we ask is that you let us help you, buddy.”

Mac’s hands shook and he wasn’t sure if it was from low blood sugar, fear, or rage, but eventually he was able to say, “Okay.” _Where do we go from here?_

At the end of the conversation, Mac knew just one thing for sure: he was hungry in the worst way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Some things were said that maybe weren't ideal in this and maybe aren't particularly helpful to Mac but it seemed realistic that the people in his life might say the wrong things without realizing how those things make Mac feel. Plus, they are all feeling a lot, and it's hard to not get frustrated with someone who doesn't seem to be responding to reason and who is self-destructing without seeming to see what's wrong or recognize the severity of their condition. Thus, things got a little heated and there will continue to be tense moments, but don't worry, they all love each other so much that it will be okay in the end. Thanks for reading. Hope you liked this chapter. Mac is going to attempt (ish) to get better in the next chapter, but he's not really ready yet, so it may not go too smoothly. Goodbye for now lovely people xxx


	24. Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I should buy jellybeans  
> Have to eat them all in just one sitting  
> Everything it seems I like’s a little but sweeter  
> A little bit fatter, a little bit harmful for me”

**Still on Mac’s Deck: Mac’s head, meanwhile, is far away**

Thoughts of chips, pasta, chocolate, ice cream, and pizza were dancing in Mac’s head. Yes, he decided, he needed food, and he needed it now. He needed as much of it as humanly possible, and he needed to devour it as quickly and efficiently as he could. _You don’t. It’s just your appetite not your hunger._ He couldn’t tell if he was hungry or not, but he knew that he needed to stretch his stomach like an overblown balloon, only to pop the fullness with two fingers shoved down his throat. **I need food. Now.  I desperately need food ASAP. Please, someone give me food. I’ve been so stressed and anxious, and I want to get lost in my worries. I want to stop denying myself things I love.** _Things that make you fat and unlovable._ **Well, only for this one night. Then, I’ll go back to being good.** _You’re never good._

He wished he could somehow get to his stash of food still in the garage, but Bozer would insist on following him if he did that. He needed some new tactics to at least keep his purging episodes moderately hidden, but everyone in his life was going to be hypervigilant now. _This sucks._ **Don’t I know it.**

Jack spoke up, “It’s been a long day, and I’m getting pretty hungry. How about we all order some food?” _Very subtle, Jack. You can’t eat in front of them, Mac. They’ll stare at you and judge you. It’s only worse now that they know you have a problem._ **But if I don’t eat, they’ll be upset.** _You don’t have to think of others so much, Mac, especially not when it hurts your progress._ **I have to appease them.** _Or are you just trying to appease me? Because either way, you’re doing a shitty job. Sorry, loser, you can’t make everybody happy. You have to choose. **I really want pizza. Ooey-gooey cheese. Ohhh, I want the kind with the stuffed crust.**_ **And pepperoni.** _Ew pepperoni._ **I can practically smell it. I could eat a whole pizza if I had one.** _Stop thinking about it._ But the more Mac tried to forget the pizza, the more his brain latched onto the idea. **A buffalo chicken pizza would also be good. Maybe I can have that.** _No._ **Maybe I can just have both. I’ve been good. I deserve a cheat day.** _You deserve nothing. You know what happens. A cheat day becomes a cheat week, which becomes a cheat month, and before you know it, you’ll be spending all your cheat years being a chronic cheater. We can’t afford to make mistakes._ **Red sauce, garlic, cheese, pepperoni, crust.**

Everyone nodded their heads in response to Jack, but Mac still hadn’t decided what was the proper way to react. He didn’t want to disappoint Jack who had only just gotten back to California, but he also didn’t want to disappoint himself. **Red sauce, garlic, cheese, pepperoni, crust.** Above all, he knew he wanted food and a lot of it, but he certainly wasn’t going to be so pathetic to admit his dark desires in front of the people he loved the most. He wanted to keep his shameful behavior to himself.

 **Red sauce, garlic, cheese, pepperoni, crust. Red sauce, garlic, cheese, pepperoni, crust. Red sauce, garlic, cheese, pepperoni, crust.** Riley touched his arm, startling Mac from his thoughts. “Mac, do you want something? We can get you whatever you want.”

Mac was silent as thoughts coursed through him. **Red sauce, garlic, cheese, pepperoni, crust.** _Stop thinking about pizza, dummy. Think about your current dilemma._ _If you admit to being hungry, it will be a blow to your pride, but if you say you’re not hungry then they will think you’re a liar, and you’ll know that they know you’re lying, and a lie is just pathetic when everyone knows it’s just a lie. You don’t deserve food, but they want to stuff your face full of it. That’s so gross. Plus, what would you get? Any place you order from would have gross disgusting greasiness that clogs your arteries, and if you won’t be able to puke it up, you need to eat clean. Can you throw up? The garage has been blacklisted since Bozer found out and the bathroom too, but maybe you can make some excuse and go for a drive and puke in your car or in a public bathroom. It’s disgusting, but you can’t do nothing. Or maybe you can just make something for yourself. Show off your new cooking skills. Who would have thunk it? Your fear of eating is what drove you to an obsession with food, which, in turn, turned you into a cooking fiend. You can actually make a meal now without burning the place down! In your past life as a fatty junk food lover, you couldn’t do that. Don’t forget how far you’ve come. Or if you could somehow figure out a way to add extra exercise and do a water fast tomorrow, then maybe you don’t need to throw up. Although, it can never hurt to puke. The more calories you get rid of the better. That’s what you can’t seem to remember. You aren’t dedicated enough. No wonder your weight has plateaued._

“Angus, are you hungry?” James asked as patiently as he could but also with authority that he could never leave at the office.  

Mac shrugged with one shoulder. “I don’t know.” **Red sauce, garlic, cheese, pepperoni, crust.**

“What do you mean you don’t know? It isn’t a trick question.” **It is, though. There’s no satisfying answer. No matter what I say, I’ll still feel shame and hate myself for saying it. Food decisions have no safe answer.**

“It’s just hard to tell if I want the food for the right reasons.”

“Mac, it’s okay to eat food just because you enjoy it.” _Not when you have no willpower._ “And it’s been a while since you’ve ate, which means that you probably need food too. How about we order something and then you can reevaluate once it arrives?” Matty suggested pragmatically.

Mac nodded. **I can do that.** _*eyeroll*_ **Red sauce, garlic, cheese, pepperoni, crust.** “I think I want pizza,” he finally said, no one debating his decision like they might have normally. He meant what he said about wanting the pizza until it arrived, the sight of its greasy cardboard box leaving him cold and clammy. **Fuck, what was I thinking?** _You’re never thinking anything good, I know that._

***

The second the pizza box was flipped open, letting the aroma fill the air, Mac felt sick. The cheese glistened with grease, and Mac wasn’t sure why he had thought it would be okay to put that junk into his body. A part of him still craved it, but as his family began to put slices onto their plates, Mac froze like a startled bunny caught with a leaf in its mouth.

Before Mac could move, he felt Bozer push a plate with a slice of pizza into his hands. “You can have more if you want, but I thought you might want to start off easy.”

“Yeah,” Mac said distractedly, “Thanks, Boze.” **Thanks for giving me the gift of a mental breakdown.** The slice of pizza might as well have been poison. _Poison would be easier to swallow._ There was no way he could eat one slice of pizza without starting a whole binge, and he hadn’t figured out how he would purge yet, but maybe there wasn’t a reason to keep it secret anymore. He was an adult. He could do whatever he wanted, and it wasn’t anyone’s business. If they heard, it was their fault for listening.

 **It’s already on my plate. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t eat a this.** _Red sauce, garlic, cheese, pepperoni, crust. Aren’t those reason enough?_

He studied his food, trying to create a list of pros and cons of eating it, but he couldn’t figure any scenario where the pizza was good for him because he knew it would only ever be a part of his biggest vice. He was itching to make himself throw up and eating the pizza would only make justifying puking even easier. He was supposed to be trying to do better, at least in front of his friends, but what they thought was better didn’t align with what he thought was better, which meant that making a decision on wanting to get better was impossible. He wanted to be happy, but it was unclear how he would get the allusive happiness others seemed to find so easily. _Looks can be deceiving._ **I need to make a decision. If only I was alone, then I’d easily eat the whole pizza and then some.** _And you’d hate yourself for it._

Mac wasn’t sure how long he sat looking at his pizza, but he knew it was long enough for everyone to have finished eating their own food while he was still stuck in his own head.

“Aren’t you going to eat it?” Desi asked.

“Maybe in a little while.”

“It’s getting cold.” _You’re acting like a freak, and it’s making them worried. You need to fix this and get your act together._

“It feels like you’re all watching me. The pressure makes it hard.”

“Angus, now’s not the time to act like a child. It’s just a slice of pizza.” James’ face was scrunched up in what must have been worry, an emotion James rarely let show.

“Then you eat it.” Mac was so sick of his father acting like he was just a kid who was purposely being obstinate. What Mac did wasn’t to get a reaction out of his father. It wasn’t to be childish or petty. It was just something that had happened to him, slowly creeping in and taking over his whole world.

“I already had my fill.” James never liked to give up a battle. Neither did Mac.

“Me too.” That specific comment was obstinate, coming from a scared, insecure place.

“I’m just asking you to eat one slice.” _Which basically means asking you to binge and/or purge._

“I’m not hungry.” It was true. He didn’t feel hungry much, his hunger cues unable to keep up with the abuse he was doing to his body. But he thought a lot about food. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, really, and it was torment.

“That’s simply not true, son. This is what you wanted. You asked for pizza and here it is. Don’t act like you don’t want this.”

“I said that in a moment of insanity.”

“No, that was a moment of clarity. The rest of this shit is the insanity.”

“Hey, now, guys,” Jack said stepping between the two, turning to James, “Belittling Mac’s experiences aren’t going to get us anywhere, and if you do that, you aren’t welcome here.”

“No one asked you, Dalton.”

“Dad,” Mac warned. No one talked to Jack like that if Mac could help it.

Jack focused his attention on Mac. “Mac, you really should have something to eat.”

“I will later. I just can’t stomach it right now.”

“Do you want to talk about why?”

“There isn’t always a reason, Jack” Mac snapped, immediately regretting it. He picked up his plate, “I think I’m just going to go eat this in my room.” _Quit making a big deal out of this, suck up your pride, and eat the damn pizza so you can puke it up._

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Bozer said. Clearly, he had an inkling of what Mac was up to.

“Maybe not, but how am I supposed to eat when you’re all hovering over me?”

“Okay, I understand why that might be hard for you. So, why don’t we go inside, turn all the lights off, and then you can eat your pizza in the dark,” Riley suggested, and Mac wanted to pull her into a ginormous bear hug for understanding him. It wasn’t the ideal circumstance, but it was one he could live with. He’d eat a single piece of pizza, letting it digest in his stomach as the film progressed, and then when it was 4 am and Bozer was asleep, he’d sneak to his garage for a much needed binge/purge session. He’d have to be quiet, but Bozer was a heavy sleeper, and if Mac could purge in the early morning hours, maybe he wouldn’t have to stop doing the one thing that made him happy. Sure, he’d lose a lot of sleep. He didn’t need sleep, often couldn’t sleep, anyway. He had coffee. What more did he need? Besides, they wouldn’t let him in the field anyway, so what was the point of trying to be moderately functional?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked this! Thank you so much for reading and feel free to leave any feedback. Next chapter will probably build some more of the isolation Mac's ED caused and eventually I want to check in with his therapist again because he really needs some support from her. Anyways, you're all wonderful! Be back soon xxx


	25. You Belong With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you could see that I’m the one who understands you  
> Been here all along so why can’t you see?  
> You belong with me  
> You belong with me"

**Mac’s Brain: Easily mistaken for hell**

_You’re acting different and I don’t like it._ **I need to make some changes so I can at least look normal. I can’t just not eat and puke all the time. My family won’t let me do that. I can’t get away with lying like I used to. I won’t tell the truth, but I have to tell some truth. My secrets are falling apart and as they do, the harder it is to keep my lies.**

_Do you really want to be normal and let all the things that make you so great vanish? No, you don’t. Normal means fat. Normal means mediocre. Normal means nothing special. You’ll never be happy if you’re normal. You need to be extraordinary or you are worth nothing, so don’t whimp out on me now, MacGyver. You’re better than that. At least I thought you were. You’re making progress. I can see that, and I know you can’t, but you just need to trust me when I say you are doing better than ever. There’s still plenty of ways to go, but your last bit of fat is nearly gone. Keep holding on, just a little while longer now. Don’t be discouraged just because the journey is long._

**Can’t I just make a few compromises? I’m not planning on gaining weight, but maybe I could try purging less, and I maybe I shouldn’t lose anymore. I’m starting to feel really weird, and if I lose more, I think I might feel worse.** _That’s stupid. You feel fine. You love the feeling of being empty, the feeling when that number on the scale is lower. You love purging. You love the dizziness. You love the shaking hands. You love being sick. Don’t try to tell me you don’t. There’s something addictive about the things you do. It feels food. Don’t deny that._ **I’m not denying that, but maybe there can be a balance. Maybe I don’t have to live in extremes.**

_Don’t let such silly ideas flitter through your head. Why do you insist on being the worst person alive? You really think you can control yourself enough to maintain your weight without throwing up? You can’t. Why do you think you puke in the first place? It’s because you can’t manage your weight otherwise._ **I know but—** _No buts. You have to stay strong. We’ve talked about this. Don’t quit now. Stop flip-flopping and choose for once in your life to do the right thing for yourself. Don’t lose hope now. Weakness doesn’t look good on you._

**I’m hurting the people I love.** _You’re helping yourself, that’s all._ **I forced Jack to come home. I ruined everything for him and made him worried. I screwed everything up so badly that he had to come all the way back to California to be part of an intervention instead of doing his job. He thinks I need to change. Jack’s always had my best interests in mind. He knows me better than I know me.**

_No, that’s not true. He knows nothing about the new and improved you. Don’t let Jack sway you. He shouldn’t have so much influence over you. Don’t listen to him. You’re not his puppy that he can just command into acting however he wants. You belong to me. I’m the one in charge here. I say what you do, and you’re supposed to listen because that’s what benefits us both. We can work together if you let it happen. Don’t think that you can go rogue. You aren’t ready to make decisions for yourself. You need me. You are nothing without me._ **I don’t want to give up.** _Then why are you sounding like a quitter._ **Because I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. My body and brain hurts. I don’t know how to be happy without hurting everyone else in my life. I don’t know what to do about it because there really is nothing I can do except be unhappy. I’ll never be satisfied, will I? There’s no end to this. It’s just a never-ending quest. I’m wasting my life, and nothing good has come from it. What have I accomplished other than making me hate myself more each day? I’ve been spiraling for months, and I just want it all to stop.**

_Don’t be so negative. You’re just being dramatic. The only reason it doesn’t end is because you won’t listen to anything I say. If you weren’t so stubborn and ill-willed, we’d be done by now. Don’t you see that, Boy Scout? I’m not the problem, puking isn’t the problem, starving isn’t the problem. You’ve been the problem all along and you still don’t want to accept that. This is why you’re unhappy. This is why you’re never satisfied. I’ve been trying to shake some sense into you, but I’m starting to think you’re a lost cause. Maybe I’ll just go away and leave you with the lonely silence of thoughtlessness._

**No, no, no. Don’t do that. Please don’t do that.  I’m not a lost cause. I’m just afraid. I don’t want to die, but I’m not sure I can take living. I’m running in circles and that’s no way to live. My life is crumbling but I’m powerless to do anything about. Honestly, I don’t care about anything but listening to you and doing exactly as you say. Whether it’s good for me or not, I’d rather puke than see my friends. Our mission is the most important thing in my life, which is pathetic because what kind of fucked up thinking is that?**

_That kind of thinking will serve you well. It’s not pathetic to prioritize things that make you feel good. There’s plenty of other pathetic things about you, but being focused on what matters most isn’t one of those things._

**I’m not sure they do matter most. My life is being ruled by fear, but there’s no way out. I’m scared to eat, and I don’t think that’s ever going to change. I can’t imagine ever looking at food again without a million thoughts racing through my head, which just shows how far gone I am. The old Mac will never be back.** _Good riddance._ **At least the old Mac could have friends, and a job, and a life outside of his own head. Now, I have only this one obsession, and I can’t pencil in anything else into my schedule. Everything revolves around food, even things that should have nothing to do with food.**

**You’ve taken so much from me.**

_Do you ever stop complaining? Don’t try putting all your problems on me because you’re too weak to handle them on your own. None of this is my fault. Like I said, you’re the one to blame for it all. After all, I don’t exist without you. There aren’t really two of us living in this brain. It’s always just been you. All your shame, all your self-hate, all your fears— those have always just been you, lonely, pathetic you. The truth is you don’t want to get better because you think you deserve the agony, and it’s true, you do. You deserve all the abuse you’ve put yourself through and more because you aren’t good enough. You are nothing._

**If I’m not good enough then why are there so many people in my corner. There are so many people willing to fight this fight with me that it doesn’t make sense that there’s not some worthy part of me. No human can be completely worthless, can they?**

_Guess you haven’t met yourself. Don’t be naïve, Angus. Lots of people would be better off having never existed: Murdoc, the Ghost, Mason, just to name a few. You belong in that group, Mac.  You’re not worth anyone’s time or effort and just because they’re too fooled by you to realize that doesn’t mean it’s any less true. You should push them away if you love them so that they don’t have to deal with you, but I know you won’t do that because you’re selfish. You are just terrified of being alone. You need them. They don’t need you._

**They wouldn’t leave me alone if I tried. They’re too loyal for their own good and that has nothing to do with me being selfish.** _Anyone will leave if you try hard enough. You of all people should know that. Sometimes, you don’t even have to try for people to leave you. They just leave, running away because they can’t stand being around you. I can’t blame them. You act like you know everything and always have the answers, but you don’t know anything. You don’t know how to make people love you. You don’t know how to be loved. You can’t even find anything to love in yourself._

_No one loves you. They love things about you, sure, but they don’t love you. They want to change you. They want to force you to eat. They want to make you stop puking. They’ll tell you anything to make you stop. They’ll tell you continuing will kill you. They’ll say they don’t want to see someone they love die. They’ll tell you they love you just as you are, but don’t be stupid, Mac. People are liars. They have no reason to love you. They just want you back in the field so they have less work to do. Don’t fall for their games. Instead, make them fall for yours. And why do you need to do that?_

**Because I am nothing without you.**

_You are nothing. Period._

**_I am nothing._ **

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter was a little bit different but I hope you liked it, and that it showed the complicated mental state of Mac a little more that may seem consistent but I think shows how torn he is and how ruptured his self-esteem is. Thanks for reading lovely people and feel free to leave any comments xxx.


	26. Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell my Mother tell my father  
> That I’ve done the best I can  
> To make them realize this is my life  
> I hope they understand  
> I’m not angry, I’m just saying  
> That sometimes goodbye is a second chance”

**Tomlin’s Grocery: Trying Not to Have a Breakdown**

Jack had dragged Mac to the grocery store, hoping that if he tempted Mac with foods he liked, he would eat at least a little more, but being around so much food just made Mac feel twitchy. _So much temptation. How will you ever resist?_

“Where do you want to start, buddy?” Jack asked with a big old grin as if grocery shopping was the best thing in the world.

“Let’s just start with the produce,” Mac replied as calmly as he could, but even the healthiest section of the store had him indecisive and anxious. He couldn’t have it all, which meant choices had to made, and Mac hated choices. _Let’s start and end with produce. You don’t need any other crap._

Jack followed Mac as the blond tried to decided what foods would be the smartest to select. Spinach and iceberg lettuce were no brainers. They were low calorie and high volume, exactly what someone like Mac needed, but when he got to the celery and carrots his decision became harder as food equations cycled through his head, and he tried to logically decided what to put into the cart. He looked at them for a good while, running through all his options.

Calorically, celery was the better option, but he liked the taste of carrots better, so maybe he should go with the carrots. Although, carrots were one of the more sugary vegetables, which, for a myriad of reasons, wasn’t ideal. Still, they were versatile, and he could bake them into fries instead of going for a worse option such as a sweet potato. Sweet potatoes were bad, but yes, carrots would do. They would be a good compromise.

As he made his way down the line of vegetables, Mac considered buying a pack of bell peppers because they always made dishes seem more elaborate just because they added a little color to any dish, but **I don’t really need the extra calories.** _Skip em this time. No need to go through the whole decision making progress. You already took too long to decide on the carrots. Jack will get suspicious._ So, the peppers were out, but he’d need more food to fill him up then.

Next to the extra firm tofu, Mac picked up a pack of shirataki noodles. They were expensive for something so unexciting, but they were also practically calorie free, and he could pretend they were real pasta. Pretending nothing was something was one of Mac’s favorite things to do. Just as he did with paperclips and bubblegum, he liked to take bad foods and dress them up to resemble real foods. Some people were repulsed by the taste of shirataki, but Mac quite enjoyed them. **They’re better than real noodles.** _Liar._ “What the hell are those?” Jack said, prodding at the squishy, fluid packed noodles like they were alien life forms. Mac had once looked at them that same way but had quickly turned his attitude around when he saw the nutritional facts.

“Noodles,” Mac said simply.

Jack studied them skeptically, looking for the catch. “It says they’re zero calories.”

“Yeah, Jack, that’s the point.” Mac added, “They’re not actually zero calories though. Packaging lies. They can round calories down to make things look healthier. It’s scary how unaware we are about it, really.”

“I don’t know anything about nutrition and calories and whatever else you worry about, but I do know that you need to be eating real food. Not this fake crap.”

“It’s not fake crap,” Mac said indignantly, loading more packs of the noodles into his cart.

“The point is that you need to be eating more than these. They’ll do nothing for you. Zero calories or not, they aren’t going to keep your body running.” **Watch me try.** _You’ll just binge, so what does it matter? You feel the binge coming. That’s why this store is making you so itchy. You feel it in your throat. Your Russel’s Sign is blaring like a car alarm. The clock on the bomb is ticking, and this is one explosion you can’t stop from happening. It’s coming, Mac. Beware, it’s coming._

“I eat other things with them. They’re just to fill my meal out, so I feel full. It’s a psychological thing. I don’t actually need the extra food.”

Jack bit his lip. “They don’t look very good, Hoss.”

“Food shouldn’t be enjoyable, Jack.”

“Kiddo, I think that’s a messed-up way of looking at it. You should like what you’re eating, and it should feel good to eat. It’s like sleep. You can enjoy that without letting it take over your life”

“Nothing has taken over my life.”

“You can’t possibly believe that. I just watch you spend ten minutes deciding between celery and carrots.” _You should have chosen the celery. It’s the healthier option._ **But I prefer carrots.** _Who cares what you prefer?_

“Yeah, and I think I made the wrong choice,” Mac said grabbing the carrots from the cart to swap it for the celery.

Jack grabbed Mac’s arm, fingers wrapping around the skinny bicep more than should have been possible. Jack’s hands sure weren’t small, but they weren’t so big that they should engulf Mac’s arm in the way that they did. It was alarming for Jack but gratifying for Mac.  “You can get both.”

“I don’t want both. All that food would go to waste.”

“It’s not that food.” Jack crossed his arms.

Mac gave him a stern look.

“Okay, fine. Get what you want.” _He’s getting irritated with you. He’s been home less than a week, and you’re already upsetting him._

“Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad, Mac,” Jack insisted.

“You sound mad.” Mac wasn’t sure if he was being paranoid or not.

“I’m worried, man, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Mac said putting both the celery and carrots into the cart. **I’m barely even having a nervous break down over having more food than I want to have in my cart. Yup, perfectly fine. Not sweating it one bit.** _Keep lying to yourself, MacGyver._ “Let’s just keep shopping.” **I hate this.** “I just have to go back and get some almond milk and then we can get out of here.” Mac began hastily walking, wanting to limit his time in the store, so he couldn’t wander off into the middle aisles of food that would tempt him and cause his resolve to spiral out of control. He wasn’t even going to look at the danger zones.

“You’re skipping all the good stuff.” _All the bad stuff._

“I don’t need it today. Maybe some other time,” Mac said, attempting to sound like the reason he was avoiding those aisles was practicality rather than fear. Because Mac wasn’t afraid of it. Nope, he was 100% okay.

He began shivering as he got closer to the refrigerated section in the back of the store. The sooner he could get away from the chill, the better. He browsed the fridges for his usual brand of almond milk, realizing as he looked that he wasn’t going to be able to get out of the cool chokehold of the refrigerated section anytime soon. _Where is it?_

Mac tried to keep his teeth from chattering as Jack took off his jacket, draping it over Mac’s own jacket. It immersed Mac, but was warm, melting some of the terror that had left Mac frozen at the sight in front of him. “It’s not normal to be this cold,” Jack commented casually, even though he wanted to scream, “Your body is shutting down, and this is the result.”

Mac didn’t move, didn’t even make an attempt to look like he had listened to what Mac was saying. The kid looked like he was in a trance. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

 “They don’t have my almond milk.”

“What about this one,” Jack said pointing to another brand.

“ _That_ one has sixty calories per serving.” _Watch it, Angus. Your crazy is shining through._

“So?” Jack asked, not sure what the normal calorie amount for almond milk was but knew enough about nutrition to realize sixty calories wasn’t a lot.

“ _So_?” Mac mimicked. “That’s double the calories for the same amount of almond milk. I can’t do that.”

“It’s not that big of a difference. You’re not going to gain weight from something so marginal, you know that right?”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Mac said sharply.

“Then what’s this about?”

“I already have a therapist, Jack,” Mac said as softly and as sharply as he could. There weren’t many people in the grocery store, but he didn’t want to talk of such things in public. Doing so seemed uncouth. _More like humiliating._

“Fat lot of good she’s doing ya,” Jack muttered. _Yeah, fat, he’s got that right._

“Come on, let’s just go home. I’m done here.”

“You need more than rabbit food.”

“I have some other stuff at home.”

Jack just sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this. Thanks as always for reading. Things get difficult next chapter, and Mac's going to be a bit of a wreck (more than usual haha). Love you all xxx.


	27. Unwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell  
> I know right now you can’t tell  
> But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see  
> A different side of me”

**Mac’s House: Surviving (more or less)**

“Where is it?” Mac cried out, chest tightening when the drawer that formerly held his food scale was empty. He started pulling open the surrounding drawers and cupboards, hoping that it had just been misplaced, an error of his own doing, but it seemed unlikely he would have put it somewhere else. He was always meticulous with it because he absolutely couldn’t live without it. **Literally, I’ll die. I won’t be able to eat without it.**

“I threw it away.” Jack shrugged nonchalantly but his eyes showed the shrug was just an act. Jack knew his actions were a violation of trust, but he hadn’t cared enough not to do them. With a guilty expression, Jack served Mac a sandwich because that was one of the few foods Mac would allow other people to make for him. **Because I can take it apart, measure it, and then put it back together.** _Can’t do that now, can you? This is what you get for letting other people in. This is why I told you to keep them away._ **First he betrays my trust, and now he’s trying to make me eat. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. Please let this be a nightmare.** _Sorry, Mac. You can’t wake up from this._

Mac’s eyes glistened with tears of terror and frustration. “Why would you do that? What I do to ever deserve that kind of treatment? You can’t just get rid of my stuff to punish me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Mac, and it’s not a punishment, but it’s not healthy for you to obsessively weigh your food. That thing needs to be out of your life.”

“Maybe not, but I need it,” Mac said, stomach feeling like a shaken soda.

“You don’t need it.”

 “I do! How else am I supposed to eat?” Mac yelled, collapsing on the floor like a child having a tantrum. He was too exhausted to have this fight, his limbs feeling like jelly. **Why does everything have to be a battle?**

“The same way the rest of us do. Pick it up and put it in your mouth.” Gently, Jack pulled Mac from the floor, escorting him to a chair and pushing the sandwich towards Mac. “Eat.”

Mac shoved the sandwich back at his friend. “I don’t want that anymore. You ruined it.” **Not that I was looking forward to it to begin with.** “I’m not like the rest of you. If I can’t measure my food, the whole system goes to hell, and when the whole system goes to hell, everything falls apart and I’m forced to do things that I shouldn’t need to do. Eating is bad enough when I know what’s in my food, and now you’re pushing me to the point that I can’t eat at all. I hope you’re happy, Jack.”

“You know what’s in it, and if you don’t, all you have to do is ask. What you don’t need to know is how much is in it.”

“I do, Jack. Don’t you get it? If I don’t monitor these things, my whole life is going to crumble around me, and I’ll wind up broke and on a reality show called “My Big Mac Life.” People will laugh at how fat and gross I am. I couldn’t stand the indignity.” _Cut it out, drama queen._

“That won’t happen. Maybe that’s what your big brain tells you, Hoss, but it’s not true. Your mind is playing tricks on you. It’s not telling you the full story. It’s giving you little snippets and linking them together with strands of glass.”

The truth didn’t matter, though. Nothing Jack was saying did because Mac had better things to think about than recovery. Mac rubbed his head trying to find a solution, “You know what? I have some parts in the garage. I can make one that will hold up until I can buy a new scale. Then, we can have lunch, and it will all be okay again.”

“No, you can’t do that. You have to fight the urge to control everything, so that you aren’t controlled by it. I know it seems scary—"

“Shut up. You don’t know anything about what controls me because if you did, you would know that the thought of not having my food scale makes me feel as though there are a million needles poking at my lungs, which will only get worse when I eat, and without knowing how much I’ve put into my body, I’ll have to get rid of it. _That’s_ what controls me, so shut up and leave me alone,” Mac said throwing the sandwich to the floor, immediately feeling mortified for it, but he wasn’t going to apologize.

Jack’s eyes blazed, and Mac could tell that he was angry, but it was still unclear if he was about to lose his top. Since he’d gotten home, Jack had been treating Mac delicately, mostly choosing to avoid confrontation. Mac hated it. He wanted a fight. He wanted to yell and throw things. He wanted someone to yell back. He was so angry and didn’t know why. Jack’s voice held anger but he didn’t raise it, “Stop making excuses and meet me halfway, Mac. Can’t you see that this disorder has robbed you of all the things that make you who you are? What do you have left when you spend all your damn time, measuring and counting and scrolling through images of food on your phone or cataloging ever ounce of food in the kitchen? I can’t make you eat the sandwich or stop you from bringing it back up, but you need to make changes because I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep you alive, even if in the end, you hate me more than Murdoc or Mason for doing it.”

Mac smiled, a morphed, guilty smile. The sentiment was sweet, but Mac wasn’t in the mood for sweet. He was in the mood for doing things that he would later regret. “Sorry, but you can’t always be a hero. Sometimes, you’re just a useless bystander, a puppet of fate. There’s no point wasting your energy trying to help me because I don’t want it. There’s nothing you can do, Jack, because I’m the one with all the power. In this battle, you’re completely useless. I’m in charge of my own fate, and sooner or later, you’ll learn that sometimes saving someone means giving up.”

By the end of Mac’s speech, Jack was rendered speechless, causing Mac’s heart to ache because he knew he’d hurt his friend deeply, not the kind of hurt that leads to anger, not the kind that leads to the end of a friendship, and certainly not the kind that can be relieved with ibuprofen. No, this hurt wasn’t a volcano, or a tsunami, or a hurricane. They were in the quiet moments just before the downpour, and Mac hated himself for putting them there. People didn’t give plain old rain storms enough credit for the damage they could do because people were used to rain. They were used to it slowly wearing them down, eroding the world around them and causing damage that felt like bad luck more than catastrophic devastation. Mac hated himself for bringing the downpour.

He hated himself the most when he heard constrained hiccupping turn into full on sobbing. _You’re beyond useless._

* * *

 

**A Buffet: AKA Torture**

There was nothing Mac dreaded more than a buffet with its endless supply of food, a perfect haunt for bingers, but it was Jack’s favorite place, and Mac needed to make things right after what he’d done to his friend, even if there was no going back from all the despair and pain he’d spread since his disorder had settled into a comfy nook in his brain, refusing to move for even a moment. He wasn’t going to ruin this venture with his issues. For just this one meal, he was going to shove aside all his worries.

As they entered the restaurant Riley bumped her shoulder to his. “You okay?” The smell of fried food hit him. **Definitely not okay.** He took a deep breath, which didn’t help because he only breathed in more of the fatty smell. **Do it for Jack. Stay calm for Jack.**

“I’m okay.” **About to sprint away but okay. I can do this.** _Doesn’t mean you should._ **Shut up for just a while, will ya?** _Never._

The dread that was filling Mac only got worse as they were ushered to their table, closer to the smell, and told that they could head up to the buffet whenever they pleased. **I can do this.** _You can’t. There’s no way you can handle a whole buffet. You have nightmares about this very scenario, and yet here you are bringing it upon yourself in real life. What a fucking idiot._ **If I mess up, I can do something about it tomorrow, but I’m not going to ruin this outing by acting like a lunatic.** _If you really wanted not to ruin it, you would have stayed home._ **Be quiet.** _If I do, who will tell you when you’re making a fool of yourself?_ He needed to get out of his head before someone noticed that he wasn’t doing as okay as he was making himself out to be. _They’re not idiots. They probably already know. You’re already ruining the fun._

Mac swallowed any anticipation he had and grabbed a plate from the end of the buffet. He’d start with a salad. That’s what normal people did, right? They started with a salad and then got other stuff later. _You don’t need other stuff._ Maybe he could get away with having just one course. **That’s not really the point of buffets.** Even if he got a second plate, he could ignore the fried food and deserts, and just stick to the healthier stuff, but he had to make sure that he didn’t eat too little because that would make the whole table worry and this was supposed to be a make up meal, and the last thing that Mac wanted to do was continue to ruin everything and anything in his path. This needed to go well. They’d had enough of his drama, and he didn’t want to keep being the center of attention. He’d rather just disappear into the background _like any good nerd_.

 **I’ll be fine.** He could keep the anxiety he felt in his head quiet. He could ignore the rules and demands for just an hour. He could have one semi-normal meal without puking. He could do this.

Loading his plate while looking at as few foods as possible, Mac got back to the table before the others, but didn’t start eating, which was more because he didn’t want to be caught in public acting like an overeager pig than because he wanted to be polite. Shortly after Mac sat down, Matty, Desi, Riley, Bozer, Leanna, and Jack found their way with food piled onto their plates. Jack, the last one back, had somehow managed to carry three plates at once, claiming that he wanted to “get the most bang for my buck.” They immediately dug into their food, and for a second, Mac envied them. _You’re better than that, Mac. You have more willpower._

The clang of utensils and clack of chewing was agitating for some reason, sending an angry flare through his body that he quickly cooled by biting his tongue. He put a piece of lettuce to his tongue, feeling to chilled fork piercing through, and swallowed the tiny bite. It felt like too big of gesture amid the dim clatter of the table. He felt like he was being scrutinized, and Mac knew he was just being paranoid, but he needed more than just crunching to busy him mind enough that he could eat in relative peace, something to occupy the space of his mind that was normally dominated by his thoughts.

“What has everyone been up to lately?” It was lame, but Mac needed to get conversation flowing or else he wasn’t going to get through this meal. Plus, he had been kind of out of the loop with everyone else’s lives, _which is your own damn fault._ **I’m a self-centered jerk. I don’t even know what the closest people in my life have been doing. Why haven’t they left me yet? They’re so much better than I deserve.**

Riley shrugged, “Oh, just the usual, going around the world, trying to stop the bad guys. It’s not nearly as exciting when you’re not with us, Mac. We’ll be glad when you’re finally able to get back in the field.”

“Yeah, my cellphone hasn’t been broken in over a year, and I need my best buddy to do something brilliant so that I can get an upgrade.”

Mac laughed, “If you give it to me now, I’m sure I can make that happen for you.”

“Blondie, if you break that phone, it’s coming out of your pocket,” Matty warned.

“Fine,” he said with a big grin, forgetting for a moment that he was eating food. He turned to Jack, “I guess you’ll have to wait a little while longer for that phone, buddy.”

Jack clapped Mac’s shoulder, “Yeah, I guess I will, but I know you’ll be back to smashing my phone soon.”

They all laughed and continued to chat merrily about things not related to the doom and gloom of Mac’s situation. It was enough distraction that Mac could finish his salad without thinking too much about the calorie packed buffet or the fact that he was eating on what normally was a fast day. **I can do this.** Mac didn’t even feel terrible about it. He almost felt like his normal self, even if a little twinge still gave him distant anxiety. He pushed the negative feelings to the back of his mind. **Not today.**

Unfortunately, the peace he felt didn’t linger. _After all, a moment of sanity doesn’t make you sane._

It shouldn’t have bothered him, but shortly after he had finished, while the others were still working on clearing their plates, a waitress dropped by the table to collect empty plates. “You must have enjoyed it to have cleared your plate that fast,” she said to Mac with a sweet-as-pie-smile, causing him to tense in mortification. _She can see that you’re a greedy glutton, and everyone else can too._  He couldn’t even attempt to sputter an answer to the woman, wanting to disappear completely. _If only that were possible._

It felt like a terrible, rude thing to say, but the rest of the table continued chatting as if nothing had happened. Mac had been part of the group before, but now he felt like it was back to being just him and his head.

The waitress had said it to be friendly, but to Mac, it was pointing out his shortcomings. The fact that he had finished his plate, with lots of things he normally wouldn’t have eaten like dressing and cheese, had been something he’d already been insecure about, and the fact that someone else had noticed it made him crazy. It was like having your pants fall down in public, feeling slight relief upon realizing no other people had been around to witness the incident, and then being told that the whole thing had been caught on camera.

The food began to clump heavily in his stomach, making Mac feel ten times his size merely because of a miniscule comment that should have been taken as a pleasantry and not a criticism. **I’m disgusting.** _At least your appetite has been effectively killed before you can get seconds._

He needed to be alone to deal with the thoughts cycling through his head. “I’ll be back,” Mac excused himself. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but the only private place he could think of was the bathroom.

“Wait,” Jack said at the same time as Bozer, equal parts frantic. **They think I’m going to go throw up.** _Well, the jury is still out on that one. It would be a new low for you, puking in a sketchy buffet’s bathroom. Seems like a good level of indignity for you, though._

“Maybe we should talk a bit before you go anywhere,” Matty suggested in what Bozer always called her “mom voice,” calm and loving but firm. Mac could rarely say no when she used that voice.

”I wasn’t going to do anything,” Mac defended himself, remaining in his seat. _Not surely._

“Maybe not,” Matty said, probably not believing him, “but sometimes it’s more helpful to find out why you want to run than to run away.”

 **I need to be nice. Don’t ruin this with a snippy comment.** _You ruin it by just being here._ Mac didn’t know what to say because the truth was too mortifying to put into words. How could he explain that a casual comment had filled him with shame? _Or maybe the shame was already there._ They wouldn’t understand, not because they didn’t want to but simply because it was so out unusual.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Mac said, “but at the same time, nothing’s quite right.” _Don’t bring the mood down._ He quickly redirected himself. “Forget it. I’m just being silly.”

“What triggered it?” Riley asked. Mac could tell that they all had been reading up on the issue, using words like “triggered” and “purging.” Mac hated when their voices took that clinical tone. It meant he was being a problem that needed to be fixed.

Mac looked around to make sure the offender wasn’t hanging around. “It was the waitress,” he said in a hushed tone. His friends all looked at him with puzzled faces. “She made a comment, that’s all.” Mac’s eyes fell to the table. He didn’t even have a plate to stare at anymore. He gulped some water to divert his attention from the many eyes that were carefully studying him.

Jack looked especially puzzled. “I don’t even remember what she said.” The rest of the group agreed. **Had they really not noticed?** Mac was somewhat relieved that they didn’t remember. That way, they didn’t have to share in his humiliation, but still, it shocked him that such a comment could be so easily forgotten. _Why was it so meaningless to them but memorable to you?_

“It was nothing. Like I said, I was being silly.” Mac didn’t say much more on the matter. He didn’t feel much better about the comment, but he calmed enough that he didn’t feel like he had to flee the table. _Crisis averted. Normalcy resumed._

* * *

 

**Mac’s House: Another day of surviving**

“I made you a sandwich,” Bozer said, handing Mac a plate of food, which was code for, “I can’t trust you to eat on your own, so I took some initiative.” It seemed any meal Mac had was supervised lately, _Not very well. You’re still managing to keep those old habits going. You’ve purged eight times in the past three days, and you barely try to hide it._ Since the almost normal moment at the buffet, things had gone downhill, and while Mac wasn’t sure exactly why things had taken a turn from bad to worse, he didn’t fight against it much.

Mac took the sandwich from Bozer—he was getting really sick of sandwiches—taking off the top piece of bread, then tomatoes, then the cheese, then the turkey, leaving the parts as separates. _I don’t know why you bother. You know you’ll just end up binging and then puking it all up. Eating is dangerous. You should know that by that now._ **That’s why I’m being careful.**

Ignoring Bozer’s tired gaze, Mac stood up, dragging his body to the kitchen and rolling open the drawer that held his treasured food scale, a shiny new one. He liked it better than his old one, and Jack had left it alone, perhaps realizing taking it away wouldn’t help.

“What’s wrong?” Bozer asked, but Mac was already stuck in his head, unable to hear anything above the noise of his own dysfunction. **I’m not going to puke today, which means I have to measure.**

Mac whipped out his food scale, plopping the slices of bread on it first. _60 grams. One 28 gram piece is 60 calories. The slices of bread you have are too big. You should only have 56 grams of bread, greedy pig._ Mac ripped off the crust of the bread, until the number on the scale dropped down to 55 grams, safely under his limit. He wondered if he should be removing the central part of the bread instead of the crust because maybe the calorie/gram density differed in the two parts of the bread. He wasn’t going to worry about that now, deciding that idea was something he would have to research later. **I’m crazy for caring that much. It can’t possibly matter that much.** _You’re just trying to be precise. There’s nothing wrong with that. You should try it more often._

Some days he was more paranoid about calories than others. On especially bad days, he fretted about how many calories would be in his toothpaste, scouring the internet for an answer and only making himself more anxious in the process. This day wasn’t a toothpaste bad day, but it was pretty damn close.

He put the bread back on the plate, focusing next on the turkey. Meat was one of the few things he measured in ounces. He didn’t have a reason why; doing so was just what made him most comfortable. _Two ounces is all you need. Any more is overkill._ **Maybe I can just splurge and have three.** Bozer had put just over four. _If you want to go back to being the binge/purge king, go right ahead._ **You’re the one who said I was just going to purge it anyway.** _That’s because you’re undisciplined, not because I don’t want you to do the right thing. Quit making me the enemy. You’re the menace here._

“Mac,” Bozer said as Mac began decimating the turkey in the same way he did the bread, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I can’t eat it if I don’t know what’s on it.” Mac said as if it were obvious. **Bozer should understand it by now. It’s not like me weighing my food is anything new.** _Some people won’t get it. You can’t let them drag you down._  With shaking hands, he placed the turkey bits he was keeping back onto the bread and moved onto the tomatoes because he wasn’t keeping the cheese.  Since it wasn’t a toothpaste level day, he wasn’t too worried about the tomatoes being under a certain weight like he had been with the turkey or bread, but he had to measure them, nevertheless, so he could log them in his calorie app. Not keeping track of every morsel that he put into his mouth usually led to trouble, and he was too exhausted to purge, which meant he had to be on his best behavior.

“You shouldn’t be tearing your food apart like that. You hardly ever eat. You need every last bite just to survive.”

“I ate a lot yesterday.” Mac said, remembering his binge/purge session. After a couple rounds of flushing, despite knowing that the practice was dangerous, he’d been exhausted to the point where he couldn’t get as much out as he wanted to. He had leaned back against the wall, feeling his heart pound unsteadily against his chest.

“You also purged yesterday.” Mac looked up at Bozer, shocked at his friend’s bluntness. “Twice.” Actually, yesterday had been a bad one, and it had been three times. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. _Yikes._ Mac was a little proud that he had snuck a purging session in that bozer hadn’t noticed.

“Purging doesn’t get rid of all the calories, Boze. That’s a common misconception, which is why today I need to make sure I’m extra careful about what I eat today.”

“Don’t try to rationalize your behavior like it’s somehow logical.”

“Let’s not get into this toady. I don’t want to fight.”

“I’m just trying to help you.”

“Sometimes you have to accept that some people can’t be saved,” he said, echoing the sentiment he had once told Jack. They were heading into dangerous territory. Mac feared he was about to hurt another friend. _It’s a wonder anyone likes you._

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Why do you even care?” Vitriol filled Mac’s voice. “You don’t care about me. None of you do. I don’t know why any of you are still here, but it certainly isn’t because of me.”

“How could you say I don’t care?”

“Because you don’t. You refuse to support me in my goals. So, I have to lie and sneak around to hold onto the most important thing in my life, the thing you try to convince me is wrong. You want to stuff my face and turn me back into a fat loser.” _Warning: toothpaste level delusion. You’re already a fat loser._

“You know Leanna finally decided she was ready to move into together, but I told her no because I’m worried that you’ll die if I leave you alone.”

“Then let me die!” The room grew silent, Bozer collapsing into the nearest chair, putting his head in his hands. **Please no tears. I can’t take anymore tears.** “That would make it better for everyone, wouldn’t it? It’s pointless to try to hold onto someone who’s broken.”

 “No, Mac, no. Seriously, don’t say shit like that, okay? No one wants you to die.”

“What about what I want? Doesn’t that matter?”

“You don’t want to die, not really. There’s some part of you that wants to get better. I know that. You may not want to admit it, but I can’t believe you like the way things are. It has to be torture. I know it is for those of us who have to stand still as we watch you deteriorating.”

Mac reverted to the earlier parts of the conversation. “Bozer, I didn’t ask you to put your life on hold for me. I don’t want you to do that. I didn’t ask you to watch.”

“I know, Mac. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, but I’m trying to point out how serious this is. It’s not just putting your life on hold. It’s putting all our lives on hold because we’re stuck with either pretending what you’re doing is perfectly fine or letting you destroy yourself. This sucks. I hate nagging my best friend to eat instead of having fun together, but what else am I supposed to do?”

“Let me go.”

“Let you go? Are you crazy? I can’t do that because, beyond the whole not wanting to lose my best friend part, I couldn’t live with myself if you died. If you die, I want to know I did everything I could. The problem is that you don’t even see that you’re sick.”

“I know I am,” Mac whispered, “But it’s better than what I am when I’m well.”

“You only think that because you’re hurting.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“I know, Mac. I know it’s not easy, but I think you need more help than I, or any of us, can give. Like real help.”

“I have a psychologist.”

“Do you talk to her about any of this?”

“She knows I have issues.”

“But have you told her? Have you said the words, I have an eating disorder? Because it seems to me that you’re not listening to anything she has to say.”

“Her suggestions are unrealistic, and she wants to pawn me off on someone else. She keeps talking about me needing a higher level of care, or a therapist that specializes in my issues, but I don’t need that. I have some troubles, but nothing that requires going away somewhere. That would be crazy.”

“Getting better isn’t crazy.”

Mac sighed. “Everything I do is crazy.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is not the chapter I had planned on writing, so the things that happen in that chapter will probably happen next. I just had some ideas that I wanted to fit in and ran with them. Anyways, I hoped you enjoyed this. I'm looking forward to the next installment and love you all for sticking with me.


	28. Paralyzed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When did I become so numb?  
> When did I lose myself?  
> All the words that leave my tongue  
> Feel like they came from someone else”

**Phoenix Psychological Annex**

“This week has been awful,” Mac confessed to Dr. Joss. His mind had been all over the place, meaning his eating habits had been worse than usual. He was stressed, and stress didn’t bode well for his mental health. _You can’t just cope like a normal person._ **What’s the fun in that?**

“Why is that?” she asked, ever calm and collected.

“I’m ruining everyone’s life, and there’s nothing I can do to make the people I love feel better. I’m so useless.”

“Why do you think you feel that way?” Mac shrugged. “Come on, you need to talk this through.”

“I can’t get my stupid brain under control for starters.” _Idiot, ignoramus, imbecile, moron, dunce, fool, clown, jester, joker, loser, loner, dork, dweeb, pig, fatty,_

“Go on.” Mac had been better about sharing his feelings in the safe space of therapy, but sometimes, it still took some prompting to get him going, to let him know that it was okay to speak. He hated to admit it, but it felt good to release what he was feeling from the confines of his mind.  It was especially nice to know that he could say what he wanted without Dr. Joss being able to make him do anything.

 “Shouldn’t I be able to control what I think? It’s my brain. It shouldn’t go off doing its own thing without having any concern for my feelings. These stupid thoughts I keep having don’t belong. It’s like I’m possessed, a beast of some kind. I can’t stand it. And I just ask myself why am I like this?”

“It may seem that way, that what you’re experiencing is abnormal, but we all have intrusive thoughts that sneak in without our wanting them to. Our brain tries to sneak patterns and make connections, and sometimes, those connections are wrong. That’s just the nature of being human. We’re not bound to our thoughts, however. We can control our actions, Mac, even if we can’t always control our thoughts. You can think a bad thought without being a bad person.”

“I can’t control my actions either. That’s the problem. I have these awful, all-encompassing thoughts, and I can’t get rid of them until I act on them. I’m powerless to my urges.”

“That feeling is completely normal, Mac. We all have things in our life that feel compulsive, but we’re not powerless. We can’t control everything, but we always have choices.” She liked to flip flop between giving guidance and leading him to the conclusions for himself. “What specific actions do you feel are out of your control?”

“You already know I bet.”

“I still want you to be able to enunciate what you’re feeling. I don’t know everything about you, which is why I need your perspective on this.”

Mac looked down at his hands folded on his lap. “My food issues are the big problem, obviously. I have one bite and suddenly I have to eat everything in a five-mile radius.” Mac saw no problem with the not eating part “My whole life is so far from my grasp, really. I keep trying to make things better, but I only ever seem to make them worse, and I feel so guilty for it. I’ve made just about everyone I love cry at some point or another except Matty, but even she’s come close. The other day I thought she was going to lose it when she found my breakfast in my napkin, and now, I can’t even use a napkin without suspicion. What kind of person can’t be trusted with a damn napkin?”

Dr. Joss nodded. “Let’s go back to the idea of guilt. What do you feel guilty for?”

“I don’t know,” Mac said, not sure how to put the guilt he harbored into words. Was there an expression an encapsulating guilt so deep in a person’s bones that it was just a dull ache rather than a clear sensation? “Everything I guess.” He laughed, “It’s kind of become me and my guilt against the world.”

“Now, why have you taken guilt as your closest companion?”

 _It doesn’t leave._ “What kind of question is that?”Mac asked, tone turning defensive. “It’s not my companion.”

“I’m not so sure that’s true.” Dr. Joss looked at her watch. “A question we’ll address when I see you next.”

“I doubt I’ll magically have answers.”

“Just think on it.”

“I will.” _You won’t._

* * *

**Phoenix Foundation: Garbage room**

Mac snuck into the garbage room, where just an hour before he had thrown away a cupcake that had been given to him by a coworker. There was no chance of him actually eating it in front of everyone else, and to save him the temptation, he knew he had to make it disappear.

 He’d taken the vanilla cupcake (with buttercream icing)  all the way to the garbage area in the dank basement of the Phoenix Foundation, so he wouldn’t be tempted to dig it from his wastebasket, but as he tried to work in the lab, guilt roiled in his stomach. Throwing away perfectly good food was so wasteful, especially when he wanted to eat it so badly. Visions of the cupcake filled his head, even though he knew it was long gone. He figured he could just stop by to pay his respects to the cupcake. _Don’t eat it._ **I won’t. That would be gross. I just want to look at it.** _That’s weird enough._

The urge he had to recover the cupcake was shameful, but he couldn’t resist the compulsion to make amends with the undesirably desired, non-sentient object.  

Mac knew he would be safe in the garbage room, a place in the Phoenix Foundation that people avoided and had no purpose being in. The only ones who came into the room were janitorial staff when they emptied the trash cans during the late evening hours. He could complete his inexplicable compulsion and then go back to work as if nothing had happened. No one but him had to know the shame of his actions. _Having to live with yourself is bad enough without an audience._

He went to the trash receptacle he knew to contain the cupcake. Since he’d been the last one in the room, it didn’t take long for him to find the cupcake, nestled against a used wet wipe. **At least it’s slightly clean,** Mac joked to himself. When feeling pathetic, he figured why not make light of how pathetic he was **.** _Har, har, not funny._ He spotted an opened single serve bag of chips and grabbed that too because why the hell not? He left the half-eaten bagel, even though he was pretty sure it was the one Bozer had been trying to force him to eat the day before. **I’m not that gross.** _Don’t give yourself that much credit._

He sat on the floor with his goods, holding the cupcake in his palm as he opened the bag of chips with the tips of his fingers. As the bag popped open, the cupcake wobbled a little from the force, but Mac kept it from flipping icing first to the floor. _It’s not like a fall would make it any worse. Either way it is gross. Why are you so disgusting. You embarrass me._ **It’s not my fault I go a little crazy sometimes. You’re the one driving me to do things that aren’t like myself. You’re the one who has taken my identity to make me whatever the hell it is you want me to be. I let you have my body. I let you have my mind, but all I ever get is grief. Why do you hate me?** _Because you hated yourself first. That’s how I was born, buddy. I want what’s best for you. You just can’t stop being that same petulant, good for nothing ten year old your dad left. I’m the one who sticks around. I put up with your shit and understand it in a way that no one else does because we’re one in the same._

 _Just eat your chips like the disgusting pig you are._ Mac did. He polished off the chips faster than he would ever admit, and then stared at the cupcake, ripping off the top that had bubbled over the cupcake wrapper, setting the remnants onto the empty chip bag. He unpeeled the silver casing. **Eating just the part that was covered by the wrapper wouldn’t be that gross. At least it was a little protected from the other garbage.** _No, moron, don’t think like that._ **It’s not that bad. I’ve done worse.** _Doesn’t mean it’s right. The chips were bad enough, but at least they were contained in a bag! Don’t do it._ **But I don’t want to. It would taste so good.** _It will taste like trash._ **But I need it. There’s no other food around and I need to fill my stomach with something— anything. I’ll vomit it out anyway. There’s no point in wasting perfectly good food. I don’t deserve good food. I deserve to eat trash for all the awful things I do and the awful person I am.** _Not sure I can argue with that. Like they say: you are what you eat. When you eat trash, you are trash. When you eat nothing, you are nothing._

He took a small chunk from the middle of the cupcake, the safe zone not directly touched by trash, mushing it together in his fingers, and taking a small bite. _Stop. You don’t need any more._ He was so hungry, and the cupcake was so addictive with its sugary sweetness. _Stop._ **It’s too late now. I’ve already started. I’ve lost all control.** He couldn’t stop with just one bite. He balled up the piece and put it into his mouth, repeating the process with the rest of the cupcake until the base was gone and only the discarded top was left. **I can’t just leave it there uneaten. Something must be done with it.**

He began to eat the top too because why stop? He might as well just continue his mortifying behavior now that he had already done it. When mortified, adding more mortification makes it so pathetic it’s funny. **True. _False._** The top, icing smeared all over, tasted like lemon cleaner, but he polished it off regardless, and stood up to get that fucking bagel from the dumpster because he had broken down all the fucking boundaries and he was going to be as free as possible before the boundaries came slamming back down onto his grubby fingers. The thoughts of eating and being full were too consuming. He took a big bite of the bagel, still hunched over the trash. At this point, he was just trying to get rid of all the food as quickly as he could, day old butter and stale crumbs sticking to the edge of his lips.

 “Mac, stop,” came a voice, and Mac froze, withdrawing his hands from the garbage and dropping the bagel like it was a fiery coal. The shock of being caught rendered Mac speechless. He couldn’t even turn his head to meet the gaze of the face that belonged to the voice, which he knew to be Riley’s. _This is the lowest moment of your life._ Mac wanted to disappear or at least be put into the witness protection program. _Too bad WITSEC can’t save you from the things you witness yourself doing. They can’t save Angus MacGyver from Big Mac._

“Why are you here? Mac asked, barely able to get the words from his throat, which was burning with the need to purge.

“You disappeared, so I tracked your phone.” He hadn’t been gone that long, but these days it only took a few minutes of Mac being absent for his friends to start worrying. _They don’t trust you._ **I don’t trust me either.** _Yeah, because you’re untrustworthy. I don’t see why they bother worrying about the likes of you. Why can’t they give up and accept that you’re not worth the space you take up?_

“Go away.”

“What were you doing?” she asked mercifully, giving him the chance to tell a lie that neither of them would believe. When Mac didn’t try to lie Riley patted his shoulder, pulling him in for a side hug. “It’s okay, Mac.”

“It’s not okay,” Mac replied, tears in his eyes. “I’m disgusting.”

“You’re not. You’re a wonderful person, who we all love and admire.”

“Don’t lie to me. You saw what I did, Riley. I’m a human piece of trash.”

“You shouldn’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because you don’t deserve it, and if that’s not enough, I don’t deserve having to hear someone talk shit about  my best friend.” _Talking shit and taking about you, Mac, are synonymous._

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“You keep saying that but it’s fucked up.”

“Sometimes people do things that are crazy, but that doesn’t make them crazy.”

Mac deflated. “It’s been a hard week, Riles.”

“I know, for me too. Maybe next week will be better.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself, but the weeks only get worse.”

“Someday, they won’t. Someday you’ll get better.” Mac didn’t believe that.

* * *

**Mac’s House: Another day, more agony**

Hunched over the toilet, back tense from the force of his endeavor, Mac was too tired to stand up. If his head was dropped any further, the strands of hair falling in front of his face hovered just above the toilet water. **I really need to get a trim, so I don’t have to worry about getting puke in my hair.** His fingers were glazed with a thin coating of bile, bits of food, and spots of blood. **Too much blood.** _Not really._ A few crimson flecks weren’t unusual, especially prevalent when Mac forgot to cut his fingernails, but the streaks of red in the toilet terrorized Mac. **There’s no way that is healthy.** _It’s not that much blood. Stop being such a hypochondriac._ He tried not to think about where that blood was coming from or what it meant about his health because if he ignored it, it wasn’t a problem, but he couldn’t get the image out of his head that maybe next time it would be worse.

Would that be bad enough for him to get help? How much blood would mean he was sick enough to get better? Comparatively to other people he’d seen like him, he wasn’t bad. He wasn’t in the hospital, barely holding on to life. Most days, he felt fine, not great but fine.  Sure, he puked a lot and didn’t eat enough when he wasn’t binging, but he wasn’t _that_ underweight. Maybe in five pounds or five more streaks of blood in the toilet, he’d be sick enough, but for now, there wasn’t enough justification to change. He’d be laughed at for thinking he had a problem like a kid who went to the emergency room for a paper-cut.

Jack knocked at the door. “Mac? You done?” Mac tried to hide what he was doing as best as he could, but if other people heard, there wasn’t much he could do about it. He wasn’t going to let other people stand in the way of what he needed to do to be at peace with himself. If he didn’t follow throw, thoughts of purging would haunt him all night. It was easier to just give in.

“Yeah hold on,” Mac said wiping his hands off with toilet paper and flushing the toilet. Just because Jack knew what he was doing didn’t mean Mac wanted to break through that fence of denial that had been built between them. It was like keeping a ravenous dog behind a fence versus letting him roam free. Jack could peak in but there was still enough obstruction that Mac felt safe, and Jack could be relatively safe from the brutality of Mac’s illness. The only one it could hurt was Mac.

The door creaked open, light filling the dark hall. “Go away, Jack.”

“No can do.” Jack said pulling Mac up to his feet and ushering him to the sink so he could clean himself up. Mac was weak on his knees. His head was spinning and his chest fluttering. They’d done this song and dance too many times in the time since Jack had been home, and each time, Mac hated it and hated himself for putting Jack through it.

When Mac was done washing up, Jack helped Mac to his bed, and Mac was too tired to protest, but he wasn’t ready to rest. He still felt like he had unfinished business.. “I’ll be right back,” Jack said, and Mac shut his eyes for a second. When he opened them, Jack was by his side. **Wow, he was quick.**

“Here,” Jack said, shoving electrolyte water at Mac, “You need electrolytes.”

“I don’t think the little bit of electrolytes in that water will make much of a difference.”

“It won’t hurt you to try. It’s zero calories, buddy. Drink up.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to put in my body.”

“Mac, let’s not go through this again tonight. It’s nearly midnight, and I’m too tired to fight with you. Just drink it, so we both can get to sleep.” Jack had been crashing on the couch most nights because he was too scared to be away from Mac. Mac tried to tell Jack to go home, that the couch was bad for Jack’s back, but Jack always shrugged it off, saying that he was too tired to leave. It didn’t take a rocket scientist, or even a starved genius, to figure out Jack was skirting around the truth.

“Fine,” Mac said, unscrewing the lid, which was harder than it should have been given that Mac’s fingers were cramped up and shaky. He took a gulp of the liquid, letting the cold run down his raw throat.

“Your hands are a mess,” Jack said, probably referring to the calluses and gashes more than the shakiness.

Mac scratched the back of his neck as itchy pain shot through it from staring at toilet water for so long. “It’s been a rough week.”

“So was last week. You can’t keep having weeks like this. You can barely even talk with how much you’ve been roughin’ up your throat.”

“Jack,” Mac warned. One of the silent rules they had was not directly referring to Mac’s disorder, and Jack was getting too direct for Mac’s tastes.

“It’s too late to talk in codes.”

“Let’s table this discussion for when we can.”

“Are you planning on a round 2?”

Mac shrugged. He didn’t want to lie, but he wasn’t going to fess up to his plans for a second binge/purge session. One just wasn’t enough, and he was hungry and antsy, a deadly combination.

“How about you just have some toast and then you can go to bed.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’re getting worse.”

“It’s just been a bad week.”

“I know, Mac, I know.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm back. It's been a while, but for some reason, this chapter was hard to write and took me a while to put together. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it, and I appreciate all of you who are reading it. I love you all and I hope to be back with the next chapter soon xxx


	29. Sick Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When everyone projects and expects you to listen to 'em  
> Make no mistake, I live in a prison  
> That I built myself, it is my religion  
> And they say that I am the sick boy  
> Easy to say, when you don't take the risk, boy."

**Charles W. Hainsworth Hospital: Oops he did it again**

Mac was in the hospital…again. He hadn’t meant for it to happen but after a long bout of purging and a small incident where he (erroneously) thought he was going to die, Jack had called an ambulance and got a little huffy with the 911 operator who made the mistake of telling him he needed to stay calm. He’d been stupid to think he was going to die, and because of Mac’s one unwarranted moment of fear, he was in the hospital and hooked up to more machines than he was comfortable with. He felt more like a robot than ever before.

He’d expected to go in to have the doctor tell him that he was fine, just a little wiped out from purging, but the doctor had not been so kind. In a stern voice, she had given Mac a laundry list of things that were medically wrong with him and warned that 1. He needed to stop purging, and 2. He needed to eat. **Like I haven’t heard that before.** _She couldn’t even be original with her spiel._ She tried to use buzz words to scare him off with the potential damages of his behavior: _heart attack, organ failure, seizures, low sex drive, fainting, weak immune system, ruptured esophagus, GI issues, tooth decay, hair loss, stomach ulcers, death_. _Who cares? Life isn’t worth living if you’re fat and useless._

The hospital was surely clean, but it had a grimy edge to it, but it was no wonder. The hospital was the oldest in the area, and even with a remodel, there was an oldness that couldn’t be painted away. It was a far cry from the shiny Phoenix Med, but few medical facilities were as sleek and advanced as the one at the Phoenix.

Mac had just woken up from a nap while Jack perused some informational material the doctor had given them. By the looks of it, Jack had never read something so intently in his life. Mac tried to snap his eyes shut before Jack noticed he was awake, but it was too late for that. Jack was already beginning to talk. _Good try, Angus._

“Holy hell, partner. I knew it was bad, but this is fucking serious.” _What does Jack know about serious? He hates serious._

“It’s not that bad.” **I’m too far gone.** _You’re fine. You’re not dead, are you? Might be better if you were, though. At least then you wouldn’t have to look at that hideous popcorn ceiling. What kind of hospital has a popcorn ceiling? Do they want to drive patients crazy._ It really was an ugly ceiling.

“That doctor seemed pretty serious when she said if you don’t make some big changes right now that you’re going to die.” That wasn’t exactly a novel idea, but it still seemed to rile Jack up to hear it again. “Your body is dying slowly. You’re destroying yourself, and at this rate, it’s not going to end well.”

Mac scoffed. “She’s just trying to scare me.” But he was scared, a little. After his long purging session, his chest had begun to hurt as dizziness took over him, his heart beating rapidly. He thought he was going to have a heart attack right then and there on the bathroom floor with vomit and blood still stuck on his fingers. It would be a death with a fitting amount of humiliation. He’d even forgotten to put his shirt on before he called for Jack to help him. Because, of course, when making one’s self puke, the nuisance of having puke splash on one’s shirt was unacceptable. Oh, the indignity! But a puke stained shirt didn’t compare to the humiliation Mac had felt at Jack seeing his bare chest. Jack opened his mouth but shut it when he saw Mac’s weak state. He looked Mac over and immediately called 911, ignoring whatever shock he felt at seeing Mac’s half-naked body, and that’s what had brought them to the hospital. Five hours later and they were still there.

Jack sighed, knowing Mac’s underfed brain couldn’t function properly, unable to comprehend the full extent of damage he was doing. Mac was scared, but he wasn’t more scared of death than he was his eating disorder. “This isn’t a game. We’re running in circles here, buddy, and the dizziness is going to catch up to us soon.” The dizziness already had. Mac was almost always dizzy. Even laying down, his head would spin like a tumble dryer.

“Where’s Riley?” Mac changed the subject. She’d been there before he’d fallen asleep, and she’d be easier to deal with. She never tried to push Mac too hard. She understood how hard it was for Mac, even if it didn’t quite make sense to her. Jack wanted to push and push and push to get things fixed.

“She went to get some coffee. She’ll be back soon. Everyone else plans to come later tonight or tomorrow morning.” Mac felt like a corpse in a coffin, put on display for all the people who loved him and wanted to pay their respects before he was put underground.

“Oh, can I have some?”

“If you eat a meal.”

Mac groaned. “That defeats the point of having coffee.”

“Mac…” Jack said like a mom. _Not that you know much about moms._

“I just can’t make myself do it. It’s too scary,” Mac confessed, feeling like a little kid. He brushed his fingers against his IV, wondering absently how many calories were in an IV. _Any is too many._ It would depend on what kind it was probably, but it likely wouldn’t be calorie packed, right? Still, the unknown aspect made Mac worry. Being in the hospital was out of his control, and that wasn’t a good feeling.

“Can you explain why it scares you so much? It’s just food. Your body needs it to live.” Mac had tried to explain this before, but people never seemed to get it.

“It’s never just food.” **It’s a feeling or an insecurity or a doubt. It’s clutter or chaos or calamity. It’s a million things all in one, and nobody gets that. They think it’s just food, but it’s everything I do, everything I am. It’s the reason I get up in the morning and the reason I starve and binge and purge. It’s the center of my universe, and no one understands how important it is to me. There’s a part of me that hates it and a part of me that loves it. I’m at war with myself all because of food.** _Stop being a dramatic cry baby. No one cares what you think about it. They can’t comprehend that food means a lot more than just eating._ “It’s everything.”

“Food is everything? You don’t even like food.” _Oh, he loooooves it._

“It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s just dangerous to have. Yet, I can’t resist it because it’s everywhere. Do you see my dilemma?”

“You seem to be resisting it pretty well to me.”

“I still think about it all the time, though. Our lives revolve around it, and I don’t mean just mine, which very obviously does. The whole world is centered around eating. It’s practically impossible to avoid it in social situations, which most people don’t even notice because it’s so natural, but if you pay attention, you’ll see. It’s inescapable.”

“And?”

“And I’m constantly surrounded by the thing that scares me the most, and there’s nothing I can do except live in a constant state of anxiety, and I try to alleviate the fear by doing things that give me a temporary release, but then, that fear grows again. The more I try to not think about food, the more I think about it, and the more I think about it, the harder it becomes to eat.” Mac was surprised at how honest he was being— anytime he was honest these days he was surprised—but he’d been holding onto these feelings for much too long. He just couldn’t keep stewing in them. Someone had to know how shitty and scared he felt because it wasn’t fair that he had to live this way.

None of it was fair. It wasn’t fair that he was wasting his life worrying about things that didn’t matter. It wasn’t fair that this monster in his head had taken away all the qualities Mac liked about himself and reduced him to a shell of a human who only cared about food and losing weight. No one deserved that, but even with that knowledge, Mac still felt like _he_ deserved all the pain and suffering that had come to him. _And more._

Grieving all the things his sickness had taken from him, Mac began to sob as all the feelings he’d been stuffing down for months puffed out of his body like smoke from a smokestack, polluting the sterile hospital air with toxins that were over a year in the making.

Careful to not get tangled up in the wires and tubes, Jack got from his chair and pulled Mac into a hug. “It’ll be okay, kid, but the only way to get over a fear is to face it.” Mac leaned into Jack’s touch. “You can’t run away anymore.”

“I’m really tired of being sick.”

“But are you willing to get better?” Jack asked, the faint sound of hope ringing in his voice. _Make them think you’re better and they might lay off a little bit._ **I don’t want to lie anymore.** _You can’t get better._

“I want to be.” Mac wasn’t sure if he really wanted to get better or if he was just trying to manipulate the circumstance to keep up his eating disorder. To some degree, it was both.

“How about we find you a residential treatment program? And then you can take some time and fight this in an environment controlled to make things easier for you while still making you face your fears.”

“My problems aren’t _that_ serious. I don’t need to go somewhere. The other patients there would probably laugh at me. They’d think I’m a phony just trying to pretend I have problems.”

“Why would anyone think that?” _Because it’s true. They have real problems. You just like to whine._

“I don’t know. They just would because I won’t look like them or think like them. They’ll be sicker than me, and then I’ll feel shitty for taking up a space that someone who needs it more could be using.”

“You’re sick enough, Mac.” _He’s lying._ _He just wants you to be out of his hair. You’re not that sick. Your body would be failing if you were that sick. You’d be dead by now if what you were doing was that wrong. I know it hurts, but a metamorphosis requires pain._

“I promise you that you need help just as much as anyone else. You heard the doctor. She’s worried about what this will do to your body— permanent damage.” _Being thin isn’t permanent. You know how quickly it can change. One day you’re fit, and the next you’re on a TV show about living as a 600 lbs. loser._

“You’ve been fidgeting the whole time we’ve been here because you can’t get comfortable because you’re all bones. You have none of the padding you should.” _No, you’re uncomfortable because there’s too much stuffed into your too tight skin._

Jack continued, “Your body temperature is low, which means you have to have eight million blankets just to stay warm.” _Better than being a sweaty pig._

“Your body can barely tolerate food anymore even if you did eat because your system is shot to hell.” _It is good your body rejects too much food. That’s how it should be._

“You barely have energy to do anything, except run, and it’s only out of stubborn compulsion that you can still do that.” _You find the energy for what’s important and conserve it when things are not important. That’s how everyone should live their lives._

Mac shook his head in disbelief. “I haven’t done any permanent damage, though. Once I start eating, it will all vanish. I’ll go back to normal.” _Eat enough to maintain if you must, but you don’t need to make your self a corpulent pig to be healthy. Don’t let your appetite control you. Normal is for people who aren’t extraordinary._

“You don’t know that. You don’t have a full picture of what damage you’ve done. Your bone density may be out of whack or your organs may have lasting damage even if they aren’t failing yet. The doctor told you all this, and you’re still resisting the idea that this thing might be out of your control.” _It’s in your control. It’s your brain. No one else can control it, can they? Whatever you do, it’s because you decide to do it. You decide what you want. You decide to eat or be disgusting. It’s your choice._

“I want to be better,” Mac said, hiccupping a little bit. “I really am sick enough?” he asked once more. _No, Mac. You’re not sick. Just go home and puke less. That’s all you have to do. You don’t need to go some weird place to get better. You’re the best you’ve ever been._ **Maybe I am sick enough.** He needed validation. He needed to know that he wasn’t just blowing this out of proportion, and even if he wouldn’t listen to anyone else, he could listen to Jack because Jack would never lie to him. Jack would clarify what was real and what was bullshit furthered by his eating disorder. “I need you to tell me what’s real.”

“Yes, Mac. You’re one hundred percent sick enough to get help.” _He’s trying to trick you. Don’t let him fool you into going to a place where they’ll stuff you with fattening foods. You won’t like it there, Mac. They’ll ruin your progress._  “You need it.” _He’s not serious. He’s messing with your head. He’s manipulating you into doing what he wants instead of doing what you want. He’s trying to take your autonomy, and you can’t let him._ **My life can’t get any more unhappy, so I might as well take the chance.**

“I want to get back in the field. I miss doing real work. I want my life back.” _*eyeroll*_

“Then, let that be what drives you to get better.” _Who will you be when you get better? You can’t go back to being the old Mac because he’s dead. Without my help, you’ll be no one._

“On second thought, maybe I could skip treatment altogether, and we could just get back to doing what we do best. I’ll keep up with my therapy sessions and fieldwork can keep me active enough that I don’t go crazy. Maybe being a useful member of the team will give me a distraction, and I won’t have to focus so much on my eating anymore.” **That’s a crazy idea.** _True. Or you could pretend to get better without really getting better.  I call it: fake it until they think you made it. Now, that’s a good idea._

“You know that’s not going to work. If simply going back to doing the things you used to do worked, you’d be better by now. This isn’t going to vanish. There’s no easy solution, which is why you need to be somewhere where they know what they’re doing and how to deal with eating disorders. I’m not a professional, and I can’t help you in the way you deserve to be helped.”

“I don’t want to be the least sick one there.” **Maybe I should wait and see. If I get any sicker, then I can go.** It was stupid, he knew, but if he went and everyone else was a step away from death’s door and he was three steps away, he would feel like an impostor.

“You won’t be. You deserve help just as much as anyone else.” _Untrue._

“Look at what you’ve become; you’re a cross between a ghost and a skeleton. You told me you were scared? Well, I’m scared too because the next hospital trip could be the one you don’t survive. Maybe you were lucky this time, but there’s no telling when your luck will run out, pal. You’re playing Russian roulette, and you have no control over what happens to you unless you put the gun down.”

 **Jack is right.** Mac inhaled. “Yeah, I think I have to do it. It’s time to take a step forward instead of constantly sliding back.” He exhaled. “Jack, I think I want to put the gun down.” And for the first time in weeks, Jack gave a genuine smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hoped you wonderful people enjoyed this chapter. Feel free to leave any feedback, and I hope to get the next chapter out soon. I think we're starting to see some very good progress with Mac and he's finally accepting that he can't keep living like he is (literally, he'll die if he doesn't change). Anyway, thanks again for reading and have a nice day xxx


	30. Acoustic #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They press their lips against you  
> And you love the lies they say  
> And I tried so hard to reach you  
> But you’re falling anyway”

**Mac’s House: The waiting game**

Jack came into the room, looking half glad and half disappointed, “Let’s talk.”

“What’s up, Jack? I can’t tell if you have good news or bad news.”

“A little of both, it seems. I was lookin’ online for programs that may be a good fit for you, and I just got off the phone with a new program that uses nature as a foundation for treatment. I think it would be a good fit, Mac.” _You don’t want to go there. They’ll ruin you. You’ll end up fat and doing a bunch of dumb activities that don’t help you get better. Don’t waste your time on some gimmicky program like that. They just want to take your money._

“That sounds like a camp for delinquent teens, Jack.” Mac did not want to go somewhere where there was a bunch of kids who didn’t know shit about what it was like to be him. He knew how hard it was to be a teenaged, but he didn’t want to be thrown back by being around all that teen angst. He didn’t want to hear about high school or whatever else it was kids talked about. He was different. He was old, **too old for something like this**. _You think you’re so special. You’re not. You’re just a good for nothing loser who can’t do what he should and is wasting his life on things that don’t matter._

“It’s not for troubled teenagers. It’s, and I quote, ‘a nature-based program for adults aged twenty-five and older who struggle with eating disorders, body image, and self-esteem issues.’ I thought you’d prefer this over the more traditional programs. I wanted you to be in a place where you could be with people who are in a similar place in life as you, and you love nature. It says here that the outdoors can ‘be very healing.’”

Mac crossed his arms over his chest. “That sounds stupid.”

“What sounds so stupid about it? I think it’s the perfect fit for you. You’re just too stubborn to admit it. You won’t see any other places like this. You like out of the box things. I found you one. Normal doesn’t work for you, so I found something else.”

“I don’t think a glorified adult summer camp can help with what I have.”

“Redington specializes in eating disorders,” Mac flinched at those words, “and it isn’t like summer camp. As I said, it’s for adults. From what I read, it’s very similar to other treatment settings, but includes outdoor activities to make the setting less clinical and less stuffy.”

“What an idyllic place,” Mac said sarcastically. “You should write the brochure.”

Jack grinned, glad to see Mac being a little lighthearted. “I should. I read the current one enough times. It could stand some improvements”

“How far is it?” Mac didn’t want to be sent across the country.

“Not far at all. Drive a little ways out of the city and it’s right there. We’ll be able to come bother you as frequently as they’ll let us. They’ve got specified visiting times, and you’ll be able to call once your settled in.”

“I don’t know. It seems drastic. Maybe I need just a few more session with Dr. Joss.”

“Dr. Joss is very competent, but she doesn’t specialize in eating disorders. You need more care than she can provide. I want you to have as much support as you can get. You told me you’d try residential treatment, and I’m holding you to that promise. If there’s some other place you’d prefer, feel free to suggest it, but good luck finding one. I want you to find what best works for you, but I’m telling you, Mac, this seems to be custom built for people like you. I think it will be a great way for you to heal and escape the pressure of the outside world for a little while.”

“You’re writing the brochure again.” Mac twiddled his thumbs, staring at his brittle fingernails. He kept them short, but they usually broke before he had the chance to cut them. “Maybe there’s nothing out there that will work for me. Maybe I’m stuck like this.”

“Don’t talk like that. I know it’s scary for you, but you’re capable of kicking this in the ass. You just have to take little baby steps.” _Yeah, baby steps backwards. They’ll make you eat there. Whatever they want you to eat, you’ll have to eat. They’ll make the rules, and you’ll be powerless against them. They’ll take your freedom and treat you like a helpless kid._

“Going away seems like an awfully big step.” **Too big. I’m not sure I can do it.**

“When babies take their first steps, it seems like a big thing, but then looking back at all the other steps and missteps in their lives, you realize that those first steps seemed so huge when really they were wobbly and small. What I mean is that just because a step is small doesn’t mean it won’t feel huge in that moment but getting your foot in the door will pale in comparison to the work you’ll have to do once you’re there.”

“That really makes me feel reassured, Jack,” Mac said with an eyeroll.

“It’s better to go into this with realistic expectations. I want to prepare you.”

“I guess.” Mac sighed.

“Will you go?” Jack asked hopefully.

“I guess,” Mac said again. He wanted to leave the possibility of backing out open in case he changed his mind.

“When are you shipping me off?”

Jack shrugged, “That’s the not so great news. They put you on the waiting list, and they’ll call when a space becomes available. It might be a while. They think it will be several weeks before that happens. I tried to tell them that your case was urgent, but they told me they couldn’t make exceptions. The woman on the phone was pretty firm about it. I don’t think even Matty could have cracked her.”

“What do I do until then?”

“They told me you need to remain medically stable, maintain the weight you’re at, and continue seeing Dr. Joss until they can fit you into the program.”

“I can try to do that."

“You have to, Mac. If you’re not physically well enough, they won’t let you into the program. They have a medical team on staff, but they don’t have the capabilities to be dealing with people who should be in hospital beds. You don’t want to end up in the hospital being fed by a tube, do you? Because that’s the alternative.” Mac’s heart sank at the thought. There would be nothing more humiliating than having to have a feeding tube. **I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself, thank you very much.** _Of feeding yourself junk… and puking it up._ Mac would never allow that to happen, and luckily, no one could force him. He was an adult, and any medical decision he made would be his own.

“The last place I want to be is the hospital. I won’t let myself get to that point again.”

“Good.” Jack patted his shoulder, and Mac tried not to flinch at the touch. There was something about people touching him that made Mac want to curl in on himself and disappear. He’d never been like that before. Normally, he craved those little shows of affection, melting into the touch of other humans, but things had changed with his disorder. Now, he hated the thought of another person’s touch on his skin because Mac didn’t want them to feel how revolting he was. He was mortified at the thought that they might feel the layers of fat beneath his skin. He didn’t want anyone to feel him until he was at his best.

He especially hated his stomach being touched, even just the quick plucking of a piece of lint from his shirt by a friend made him want to disappear. He hated his stomach most of all, the place where that last bit of fat always seemed to linger no matter how hard he tried to get rid of it. He’d starved the fat from his legs, arms, and face easily, but that stomach area was too pesky.

He didn’t want to live with such a soft, rolling stomach, but he also didn’t want to die with it. He hated to imagine himself dying before he won the battle of the bulge. The thought of being in a coffin with his stomach poking out like a filled balloon made him sick. He imagined people coming to his viewing and laughing at his fatness. “He died by starving himself, didn’t he?” they would ask. “Then, why is his _tummy_ still so fat?” Mac hated the word tummy. Everything about it sounded fat. _Gut_ wasn’t much better. Stomach sounded clinical at least, not quite as gluttonous. He still hated to think about it because no matter which word was used, he hated it about himself.

“But if you don’t take care of yourself, that’s where you’ll wind up, in the hospital. Don’t forget that. You don’t have to eat a lot, but you do need to do it, and I’ll be right here as you do."

“Yeah, I know that, Jack, but it’s hard to help myself sometimes, you have to understand that. If this doesn’t work, it’s not your fault. You can’t always save people. With our job, we should have long ago learned that.” They’d lost a lot of people, but they still refused to give up hope. Mac and Jack made it a policy to do every last thing they could to save people, and even then, they would feel guilty when they couldn’t manage to be heroes in the end.

“Nope, nada, no. You’re not going to talk like that, Hoss. Don’t be a self-fulling prophecy. That won’t get you anywhere.”

“I’m not. I just want you to know that if something happens to me, you did everything you could. Tell me you understand.”

Jack’s face grew red. He shook his head. “Stop. I’m not telling you that. I don’t want to hear you talking like that. If you’re still on this Earth, there’s something more for me—us—to do, and I’m not going to stop. How about once you focus on making yourself feel better instead of me. I’m okay. I’m confident we’ll both be okay.”

“I could die.” It was the first time Mac admitted it out loud and fully believed it. _Anyone could die. Doesn’t mean you should stop living your life. You can’t get a reward if you don’t take a risk. Just a little bit longer._ **I don’t have a little bit longer! I’m dying, and I can’t take the uncertainty of it. I want to know what will happen one way or the other.**

“You could get better,” Jack countered. **Or I could get worse. My life could keep going downhill. I need someone to save me now or I’m never going to do it. I can’t keep waiting for a time to be convenient. If I keep waiting, I’ll wait for forever. Is that what life is? Waiting forever for something to finally make you happy? Is life never getting what you want because you want something that no one can get? Is life watching yourself fade and become a shadow of who you used to be? Is life knowing what you should be doing but being unable to do it? Is life a game to be played or a story to be written?** Mac wasn’t sure what the answers to any of his questions were, but he knew that he was stuck somewhere between knowing everything and knowing nothing.

He’d prefer knowing nothing. At least then his brain would shut up. _Too bad you know enough, even if you don’t know shit._

“I could get better or die trying,” Mac said, not sure what was better anymore. Was it starving himself to death or giving up and letting things return to a disgusting normal? _Certainly not the latter._ **Maybe there’s an in-between.**

“It’s better to have tried than to have never tried at all,” Jack said, chuckling to himself.

“Mac,” Jack said when Mac didn’t respond, not even to make fun of Jack’s ‘joke.’ “Are you okay?”

“No,” Mac said, suddenly seething, “I’m not okay. I’m not okay at all.”

“Care to explain what’s the matter?” Jack asked, voice patient. _How can he be so patient with you? You’re so obnoxious. You waste all his time, and I’m not sure why he sticks around. He came home just to deal with your wreck of a life._ **Because he’s my friend.** _Because he feels responsible for you._

“How are we going to make it a few more weeks?” Mac wondered aloud. “How am I supposed to wait that long? I’m not sure I have a few weeks. I could die waiting to get better. Isn’t that what I’ve been doing this whole time? I keep doing this stupid thing because I think that eventually I’ll finally feel okay. I’ll be content with myself, and I’ll be able to stop, but there’s no stopping. I’m in hell running on a treadmill towards heaven. I want to stop, but if I do, I’ll burn.”

“You’ve been dealing with this a long time. A few more weeks is manageable, and I’m right here to help you.” It all sounded very good in theory, a line straight from a cheesy movie, but Jack couldn’t do anything. Mac was the only who could fight this. He alone had to battle the demons in his mind. Only he could make the decision to change, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to make it. He’d rather let life decide for him. Action was hard.

“I wasn’t fed up before. I had hope that this would sort itself out. I’m at the end of my tether. I thought if I put myself through enough agony that I’d come out being a person I liked, but there’s nothing about myself left to like. I don’t know if a person exists under this insanity rotting my brain.”

“You’re still there. You’ve always been there.”

“But I don’t like that person. I can’t go back to that. I’m stuck between two people I don’t like, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“Every part of you is loved, Mac.”

“But that doesn’t make me worth loving.”

“It does. You’re always worth loving.”

“I just don’t see how this is going to work.”

“We’re going to have to do our best keeping you on track. I know it won’t be easy, but you just need to maintain. Then, you can go to treatment, and they’ll do what you need to get better. You’ll just have to do what they say and let yourself be okay.”

“I’m afraid to get better,” Mac said while it was honesty hour.

“I know, but we’ll make it work, okay? We’ll start right now. You want something to eat?”

“I’m okay.” He didn’t want to start now.

“Mac, you haven’t eaten since breakfast. You’re probably hungry. Remember, we’re going to do this together.” _There goes your plan to a flat stomach. Your stomach is the first place that will get fat when they try to plump you up._

“It was a big breakfast.”

“One pancake and a couple of blueberries is not a big breakfast.”

“Maybe in an hour.”

“You said that an hour ago, and you’ll keep saying that until dinner if I let you.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Mac’s stomach growled, that traitor. No wonder his stomach was so rotund. It was the only thing left to fight against. His brain was already convinced that starving himself into oblivion and a binge/purge cycle was the way to go, but while his stomach mostly stayed quiet, it had yet to completely accept his lack of nourishment. It was angry and in pain, and Mac didn’t want to make it feel any better. He just wanted it to go away. “Maybe I’m a little hungry.” _Understatement of the year. You’re ravenous, you big fat pig. You want to get better. For what? To eat without guilt? To go back to your old pathetic existence? Fine. Ruin your life if you must._

“Okay, good. What do you want for lunch, buddy?” _And the fight begins._ **Me against you, bitch.** _It’s on, Boy Scout._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this. In an ideal world, Mac could just head off to treatment right away and not have to wait so long, but sadly, we do not live in an ideal world (poor Mac). I've never heard of any treatment programs like the one I made in this story, but I was thinking about how Mac might not feel comfortable in normal treatment settings, so I kind of altered it a little (because he's still not going to be comfortable) to create a program that I think would be good for people like him. Thanks so much for reading. I love you all. Feel free to leave any thoughts.


	31. Square

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I tried to eat like your girlfriend  
> Just tea in the night, I’d end up  
> Too hungry to sleep  
> So lying awake, I would follow the aching inside  
> I would find  
> It’s for you won’t be mine.”

 

**Mac’s Bedroom: 3 AM**

It been two weeks since Jack put Mac on a waiting list for the treatment program, and a bed had yet to open up for him there, so he’d been doing his best to be okay. He was trying. He really was, but trying wasn’t always enough.

Mac laid in his own bed, too big for his decaying body, and tried to force himself to sleep, but he felt too floaty to shut his mind down. He was dizzy from not eating anything all day. He’d been doing well, but it had been a long day of not wanting to get out of bed. He didn’t even have the energy to roll over. Chewing seemed like too tedious a task given all the restlessness in Mac’s body, so for once, food itself wasn’t the reason he wasn’t eating. He simply didn’t feel like acting. Stagnancy was the result.

It was everything else that was failing in his life that made it hard to believe that things could ever stop failing. _You’re always failing._

Mac, Mr. Fix It, should have known better than anyone that no pile of a crap was a lost cause, but he couldn’t muster the energy to convince himself that a Swiss Army knife and bubblegum could fix anything because when one thing was fixed, another was there to break around the next corner, so what was the point? Why keep slapping band aids on and hoping that one day something will be different? _Things are never different._

He’d been in bed for over twenty-four hours, only getting up to make trips to the bathroom. He didn’t even get up for water or coffee, which was his go to beverage. A water bottle sat on his bedside table from Bozer cajoling him into taking sips, so he didn’t get dehydrated, which was a valid concern given that people die from not having water a lot quicker than do from not having food. People could survive weeks without food. Though, it wasn’t advisable, and in Mac’s state, he wouldn’t last that long. _You’d finally be out of everyone’s hair._

 _If only people could be bodyless._ Mac wished he didn’t have a body. It would be nice just to exist without having to be seen as existing. He’d be content with a bodyless life, where it didn’t matter what size he was or what he looked like. He got so fed up with his body and trying to fix it that it would be a welcome relief to be able to kick it to the curb. Half the time, he didn’t feel like himself, anyway. He was detached from his body, hazy about what it meant to be alive and have flesh and bones. Those numb moments were peaceful because he didn’t have to worry about that hunk of material that he had to lug around like a backpack full of coins.

He was sick of being awake, but his empty stomach made it impossible to let his body sink into the mattress, even though with all the time he was spending with it, he should have been permanently fused to his bedding.

Dread filled Mac as he imagined waking up and trying to make something of his life. That’s assuming he ever got to sleep. Humans couldn’t stay awake forever, but hunger made it hard to rest. His body was keeping him awake, forcing him to think about food in hopes that those thoughts would drive him to the safety of nourishment. Too bad he didn’t have it in him to listen to his body’s cues.

He was plenty tired. He felt as though he had just woken from a coma and immediately gone for a ten-mile run. The exhaustion was clear by the way he was too weak or too depressed to lift his head from the pillow for more than a few minutes every couple of hours.

Bad days like this were going to drive him to the hospital instead of the treatment program Jack had found, which Mac didn’t want. He hated hospitals, and he hated people trying to tell him he was sick. All he wanted was to feel better. He didn’t need a hospital for that. He wasn’t sure what he needed but a hospital wasn’t it. Bad days like this weren’t acceptable, but he couldn’t ward them away. He couldn’t stop the way they fell on his chest, pinning him to bed. Bad days like this were going to make recovery hard. Bad days like this made him feel like a disappointment, heaping on more pressure to get better, which only made it harder to have good days by overwhelming him to the point where he couldn’t begin to fix any of the problems in his life.

Mac’s body was achy and even if he wanted to, he wasn’t sure he could make it to the kitchen to prepare food. Besides, if he was caught eating at 3 am, he’d look absolutely crazy. Not that it mattered anymore. Did anything matter? No, not really. He was an empty shell of a person, trying and failing to feel alive.

And he got it. He understood why people killed themselves. He understood how someone could rather do anything but wake up to another day of agony. He understood why ending it all might be better than having to think more thoughts. He understood why severing the connection of the person and the body might be alluring. Mac felt all those things. They’d flirted with his thoughts on many occasions. He wasn’t going to kill himself because he was too exhausted to take his life into his own hands, but on bad days, he wouldn’t object to letting life take him. He wouldn’t be upset if he just died in his sleep. Too bad he couldn’t sleep. His body still wanted to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little interlude. I don't like the way this turned out very much, but it gets the job done. I hope you enjoyed this. Thanks for reading. I love you all xxx


	32. Ain't It Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ain’t it fun?  
> Living in the real world  
> Ain’t it good?  
> Being all alone"

**Mac’s House: Things are about to change**

Jack came into the room with a grin on his face, and Mac instantly felt suspicious. These days it took a lot to make Jack grin like that, the special grin shared just between the two of them. Mac hadn’t seen that grin in a long time. Whenever Jack did have that look, since the eating disorder set in, Mac always crushed it by being moody and uncooperative. _Try not to wipe that grin right off Jack’s face. He deserves to be happy, unlike you. You deserve endless misery._ Jack looked like he had just watched a Bruce Willis movie— light and a little excited.

“I just got a call. It’s time for you to pack your things, pal. A bed’s opened up sooner than expected.” _You’re about to be shipped off. Better watch out. They’re going to make you F-A-T, fat, FaT, FAT, FAAATTT. You think your life is bad now… just you wait. It can only get worse. You’re such an idiot for telling Jack you would do this. You’re delusional if you think it will even work._

“What? I’m not ready. I need more time.” Mac felt like he couldn’t breathe. He was about to be sent away somewhere unfamiliar and scary. That was practically his job, but it wasn’t as fun for the unfamiliar and scary to be in is personal life. _Run away, you little wimp. Don’t face your problems like you always do. Help everyone else and pretend you’re okay._

“Take deep breaths. You’re ready. Time will only make this harder.”

“I thought I would have longer.” He hated that the thing he’d wanted to avoid was coming sooner than expected. He’d hoped to have time to mentally prepare.

“No time like the present,” Jack said, ever optimistic.

“When am I going?” Mac questioned, stomach dropping. He didn’t even know what the place looked like or exactly what he’d be doing there (beyond getting better). He wished he’d done some research. _Maybe if you thought ahead a little bit. It’s your own fault that you’re uncomfortable._

“As soon as we can get you there. The sooner you start the better.”

“How long do I have to stay?” Mac wanted to be in and out so that he could get back to living his life and his friends and family could stop worrying about him. Not that he had much real family anymore; he hadn’t talked to his dad in weeks. James had at least been decent enough to give Mac space, even though space is scary when your son is potentially dying. His substitute family would have to do.

“Six weeks, and then you’ll go to a partial hospitalization for a few weeks more, and then we’ll see if you’re ready to go back to just your sessions with Dr. Joss.” _They want you to be headshrinked forever. They’ll never let you go, you crazy pig. They’re luring you in so that they can keep you in._

“Six weeks? That’s a long time, Jack, especially if I’ll still have to go to treatment after that. It’s just too much. I can’t be away that long. I’m going to miss you all so much, and I don’t know if I can stand it. I’ll go crazy.” _You already are._

“Mac, It’s not as bad as it sounds. We all can visit you on Saturdays, and I’ll make sure everybody comes over before you go. We’ll throw a little going away party. Getting better takes a long time, but you can do it. Now, come on, let’s get you packed.”        

Mac sighed, too tired to argue. “What do I bring?”

“Just basics, bud. I’ve printed off a suggested list of things you can and can’t bring. This should make it a little less stressful for you, and you’ll feel like you have everything you need.”

Mac scanned the list, eyes widening as he read. “I can’t bring my laptop? Or magazines?” Mac asked, feeling like he was going to prison. “And it says here that books will be screened by the staff. This is insane. I don’t want to go to this hellhole. They can’t monitor me like I’m a little kid.” _No one trusts you. I don’t blame them._

“Mac, it’s just so everyone’s safe. You’ll be too busy to want any of those things, anyway. You’re just getting a little nervous, and that’s okay, but this isn’t going to be that terrible. It won’t be fun, but it’s not going to be torture either.”

“They’ve banned practically everything but clothes, Jack. This is so shitty.” _You’ve got that right._

“It’s not going to be much better anywhere else. You’ll get used to it, and I’m sure they have reasons for these things. You’re not the first patient they’ve treated.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it sucks.”

“This whole thing sucks, but it’s time to take a step forward, and the people at Redington know exactly how to guide you during this.”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice in it.” _You can’t help but act like a brat._

Jack’s face turned red. “You’ve had plenty of choices in this. You’ve made all the decisions that got you here.”

“It’s not my fault! I didn’t ask to be like this. I didn’t plan on any of this crap, and maybe you think this is all just me making bad decisions but that’s not how it is. I can’t control how I am.”

“I’m not saying your sickness is your fault. I know it’s not, but my point is that you’re the only one who can decide if you get better. I can’t force you to go to treatment. You agreed to this, so don’t blame me for being the bully who wants to force you into health because no matter how much I want to, I can’t force you to live. You’re the only one who can make that choice.”

“I don’t want to die.” Mac insisted. _Are you sure about that?_

Jack seemed skeptical. “Then, prove it.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this. I was going to add the section of Mac arriving at treatment, but I decided that I'd split this chapter up and post that next. Thank you so much for reading. Feel free to comment.


	33. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It's a long road out to recovery from here,  
> A long way back to the light  
> A long road out to recovery from here,  
> A long way to make it right”

**Redington Treatment Center: The journey begins**

Mac sat in the passenger seat, next to Jack, staring at the foreboding building in front of him. Although he was freezing, pushing the air conditioning vents toward Jack, Mac’s hands were slick with sweat. His hands were quivering, and if he tried to speak, he was sure his voice would be unsteady. The car ride had been quiet with intermittent conversation to fill long, silent stretches of not knowing what to say. It was enough just to be in each other’s company, the dream team of Mac and Jack, embracing the last few moments of togetherness before Mac went on a solo mission so bold and dangerous even Jack didn’t know how to react.

This might be the most dangerous place Mac has ever gone. He’d seen war, but he wasn’t afraid of combat or bombs like he was of Redington. War meant fighting for other people, and treatment meant fighting for himself. There had to be some psychological reason why he preferred the former, but he didn’t care to delve into that line of thought too deeply.

Redington Treatment Center was in the middle of nowhere, though not too far outside civilization, nestled in a small patch of forest that made the place feel like a summer camp. Mac had never liked summer camp. After all, there was no fun in camping that was organized. The chaos, the having to come up with solutions was always the fun part for Mac. _You’re not that Mac anymore. You’ve given up on the person who creates solutions because it’s easier to be someone else. It’s easier to let things happen to you than make them happen yourself. Fatalism is simpler._ If campfire songs were involved, Mac was immediately going to leave.

The main building was log cabin style but was ginormous, definitely not something you’d want to try to replicate with Lincoln Logs (though Mac was sure he would try to do so if he were his ten-year-old self with something to prove). It was beautiful, Mac would give it that, but ghastly. He could only imagine the horrors that would be inside. He imagined all the bad psych wards he had seen in films and shivered. He feared this place would scar him more than heal him. This wasn’t a psych ward, but it seemed too close for comfort.

“That building looks elaborate,” Jack commented, looking awed and nervous all at once. “Not a bad place to live for a little while. It’ll be an adventure,” he promised. Mac wasn’t so sure.

“You’re the one who picked this place,” Mac said anxiously. “You shouldn’t sound so surprised.”

“It didn’t seem so big online.” _Oh no, even Jack is getting cold feet about this. That means it must be bad._

“The pictures on the computer screen aren’t to scale, old man.”

Jacked beamed at the snarky remark. Mac’s sense of humor had been lacking lately. “Cool it, smart ass.”

Mac sighed, staring at the dreaded fortress. “I can’t do it.”

“I know you can’t help your smart-assery, but let’s keep it tame.”

Mac shook his head. “I mean go in there. It’s not going to help. I’m not going to fit in with those people. They’re probably going to actually be sick while I’m just a little messed up.”

“Mac, you are sick. I’ve told you that, and doctors have told you that.”

“I don’t want to be.” He wanted to be okay, but he wanted to be okay as he was. He was afraid to change because having to change met admitting that something was wrong, and he’d been telling himself for a long time that nothing was wrong. “I don’t want to be different.”

“That’s why you’re here. They’ll guide you through all those worries. They admitted you to this program because they acknowledge that you need help. They’ll make sure you’re okay.”

“What if this doesn’t help me? What if this is just who I am?”

Jack looked sick of fighting, but he kept up his brave face. “We already made the hike out here. You might as well give it a good try, Hoss. This isn’t prison. It’s just a place for you to get better. These people are very good at what they do, and you’ll be spending lots of time in the great outdoors. What could go wrong?”

“I could make something explode.”

“Only if you have a good reason.”

“A nice explosion would be a nice distraction right now. I want to go back home. Being at home with the people I love last night makes it harder to be here now. I had such a good time with everyone at my going away part that it feels shitty to actually go away. I want to be with people I know like me, not a bunch of strangers.”

“We love you. We’re not just going to abandon you while you’re here. We’ll be here to visit, buddy, and for family therapy. There’s visiting hours in the evenings and additional ones on the weekends. We’ll be here every Saturday, or more, if you want us. Plus, you’ll be able to call us write us.”

Mac pouted. “You won’t always be available. You’ll be working.” _Where you should be._

“Don’t pout. We’ll still have time to see our favorite genius. We’re not always at work. Besides, we don’t go away as much without you able to go on missions. We’re a bit of a mess without that big ol’ brain of yours. That’s why you need to do this, so our team can be whole again and our family too. We always have time for you because we need you at your best, and whenever you need us, someone will be able to swing by. Don’t worry about that. Just worry about getting better.”

Mac wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “This is going to be terrible.”

Jack pulled him into a hug, made awkward by the middle console of the car. Jack ruffled Mac’s hair, “You’ll be okay kid. You’ll be better than okay if you put the work in.”

Jack waited for Mac’s sniffling subside. “Now, come on, I don’t think these people will take well to you being late. The lady on the phone seemed like the type to schedule when she sneezes.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Mac joked.

Jack ruffled his hair in response, and Mac didn’t complain.

They got out of the car, Jack pulling out Mac’s small suitcase, and Mac pulling a duffle over his shoulder. “You’re usually a lighter packer,” Jack joked. They were used to missions where they’d be lucky to have a go bag, if not less.

Mac blushed, actually looking embarrassed about the comment. “I wasn’t really sure what I would need, even after reading the papers you gave me a million times, so I just threw a bunch of stuff in.”

“It’s good to be prepared.”

“Usually, I can make do without a bunch of junk. I’ve lost my touch.”

“Nah, you’re just nervous.”

Mac glanced at the building again. “I feel naked without my Swiss Army knife, but they don’t allow sharp things here.”

Jack gave him a look, the one he gave just before a bad joke. “I guess they’ll have to make an exception for your brain.”

“Jack,” Mac groaned but couldn’t stop grinning.

* * *

 

Inside the building felt more sterile than the woodsy exterior, but the people they passed on their way to the admissions desk seemed welcoming enough. Mac distracted himself from Jack’s nervous prattling by listening instead to the rolling of his suitcase against the linoleum. He could hear that the one wheel was sticky. He would have to fix that later if he got the chance and could find the appropriate supplies. _They’re going to ruin you. Why did you agree to this? Turn back. Run away before you’re even admitted._ _This isn’t good, Boy Scout. Even Jack is nervous._

Jack was trying to keep his normally chipper demeanor, but Mac could tell that his friend was a little weary about leaving Mac in the hands of strangers, albeit professional ones. Mac had been Jack’s responsibility for a long time, and it was hard to hand the reigns over and then walk away. It never ended well when Jack turned his back on Mac, even if for good reasons. They were better together, but this was something that Mac had to face alone.

A nicely dressed lady with a tight bun came to meet them. She shook their hands, introducing herself as Millicent Murphy, the head of the program. She then turned to the woman beside them. “This lovely nurse will be leading you through the introductory procedures. You can call her Linda. We generally refer to each other on a first name basis here, so that everyone feels at ease, but as long as you’re respectful you can refer to the staff in whatever way feels comfortable to you. At Redington, we don’t like to make rules too strict when they don’t benefit your recovery. I’ll leave you in Linda’s capable hands.” She bid them farewell, probably going off to do one of a million things the head of a program like this did.

Linda was a short, blonde woman who looked to be about thirty, maybe a little older judging by the lines by her eyes. She wasn’t quite as polished as Millicent, but she was just as courteous, and plenty vibrant. Almost too vibrant. She gave a kind look to Mac, eyes flittering towards Jack. “I’m sorry, but at this point, you two should say goodbyes. We find that if family lingers too long, it makes saying goodbye more difficult. You can commence phone communication and start visitation a week from now.”

“A week! I can’t go a week without talking to my family.” There was no way Mac could cut off communication with everyone he knew for a week.

“Angus,” Linda said patiently. “This is how we do things here.”

“He prefers Mac,” Jack corrected.

“Mac,” the nurse tried again, trying to ensure he didn’t leave before the program even started. “I know it seems silly, but it’s one of our policies.”

“I thought you didn’t make strict rules unless they benefit our recovery,” Mac replied, throwing Millicent’s words back at Linda. He wasn’t above using a sharp tone, even if it was his first day.

“This rule tends to help patients integrate better in our community here.”

Jack spoke to Linda, sensing Mac’s discomfort, “Is it really necessary to wait that long?”

She nodded. “I know it’s hard and that it seems harsh, but we find it’s best for patients to get used to their surroundings before having such communication. In that time, we will allow emails and letters to be sent.”

“What’s the difference? I don’t see why emails are okay but phone calls are not?”

“At Redington, we acknowledge eating disorders can cause strain in relationships, which can lead to phone conversations being impulsive and uncontrolled whereas written communication is more controlled and tends to allow for more reflective communication, especially when correspondents can get very heated about these issues. Ultimately, the phone ban allows patients to focus on themselves and their needs as they settle into this new environment.”

“You’ve given that talk a lot, haven’t you?” Mac asked with a half-sardonic, half-amused grin. Even though he didn’t like the rule, he found humor in how rehearsed the spiel had sounded coming from Linda.

Linda smiled brightly like a Barbie doll. “It’s rarer that I don’t give it. Now, say your goodbyes. I’ll give you a few moments.” She gives Jack a stern look, “Don’t let him run away.”

Jack saluted. “I’d be the first one to drag his ass back here.”

“Good. I’ll see you in a few, Mac.” Then, she turned away, busying herself so that they could have a few last moments of privacy. It was a nice gesture from Nurse Barbie.

“Are you sure you have to go?”

“They don’t even allow phone calls the first week. Something tells me Linda won’t let me camp out next to your bed, but I’m tempted. We’ve been apart for longer before, but somehow this feels…”

“Different. Yeah, I know. It’s not like I’m going to a war zone, but I don’t feel reassured.”

“You’re fighting a war against yourself, and maybe that’s the worst war of all.”

“Did you actually say something wise?” It felt good to be able to indulge in a little of their usual banter.

“Maybe this experience has changed me for the better.”

“And me for the worst.”

“It hasn’t changed you, Mac.  You can’t escape yourself. This disorder just brought out somethin’ that was always there, and magnified it, but you can shove it right back in its place and go back to being Angus MacGyver.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’m almost never right,” Jack laughed, “but this time I’m sure.” Jack pulled Mac in, tight against his chest, and Mac could’ve sworn he saw Jack wipe a tear from his eye. “You be good, okay? Kick this thing in the ass. Do whatever you need to do to come back to me.” Mac nodded against Jack’s shoulder, unable to speak. “You’ll be okay,” Jack added, and Mac wasn’t sure whether he was saying that for his own sake or Mac’s.

* * *

 

Mac was brought into a room with a table and several chairs around it. Linda sat him down and began pulling out heaps of paperwork. “You’ll need to fill out all your personal and insurance information so that we can process you. After that is done, I’ll give you paperwork with the rules, regulations, and your schedule. It will seem overwhelming, but don’t worry. We’ll go over all that, and you’ll be able to ask whatever questions you may have. I’ll be right here with you if you need any help filling any of this out.”

Mac nodded, “Thanks.” _You can still get out. Run out of this room and call Jack._ **I’m not a quitter.** _Yes, you are. What do you call coming to this place? That’s quitting, Mac. You’re giving up on being your best self._ **I’m getting better.** _You weren’t happy before, and you really thinking letting these people plump you up will magically cure the loser you were before? I don’t think so. Don’t you have any fight left?_

Mac ignored his thoughts and busied himself with the paperwork because yes, he still had plenty of fight left. The insurance information and forms that needed to fill out took time, but they didn’t require too much mental effort on his part. He sort of enjoyed the mundane aspects of filling forms out with basic facts, things he didn’t have to mull over or stress about. This part didn’t require any digging into his psyche or unraveling things he’d rather forget. This was straightforward, a small relief before the chaos of his new situation would begin.

The Nurse Barbie whisked the forms away when they were completed. “Now, the real treatment begins,” she said, letting her gentle blue eyes meet his.

She began with an overview of his schedule, sliding him a printed sheet of paper with everything planned out. Whatever he did on any given day, they had it penciled into his schedule. “Your day will begin at 6 am, at which point we will begin checking vitals and weigh-ins. This time will also be used for getting ready for the day. Throughout the day, you will have various combinations of individual therapy, dietetic consultations, activities, group therapy, and post-meal processing sessions. Late evening hours are set aside for visitation and free time before you have to be in your room at ten with lights out by eleven.”

 “So, visitation is only at night?” It didn’t make much of a difference for Mac because spy work wasn’t exactly regular, but it still bummed him a little that there didn’t seem to be many options for his loved ones to fit in a visit.

“There are extended visitation hours on weekends because we do not have formal therapy sessions on Saturday or Sunday. We find that it helps patient to instead be able to do healing activities, mostly outdoors, utilizing our lovely facilities. On weekends, we maintain after meal processing sessions for those who need to express their feelings after meal times. These sessions will follow all meals.”

Mac nodded to show that he was following along, not wanting to think about what “processing sessions” were like or why they were necessary. He preferred to push feelings away over processing, but he supposed that’s why he was at Redington in the first place.

“In addition to therapy and other scheduled activities, you will have three meals a day at eight am, one pm, and six pm, and between those meals you will have three additional snacks. Meals must be eaten within an hour, and snacks within thirty minutes. We will get you involved in meal preparation as we see fit.”

“What if I don’t finish in time?” Sometimes, a single serving of rice could take him an hour to eat, and they’d be giving him a lot more.

“Incomplete meals will be supplemented with meal replacement drinks to rectify any missed calories, and if deemed necessary, you’ll lose privileges. Each week you’ll meet with your treatment team, who will go over your behavior and progress, and based on those things, they may advance you a level or move you back a level, which will change what privileges you have, which nicely segues me to our level system.” She pulled out another packet of paper, so fast Mac wasn’t sure he was going to be able to keep up.

He scanned the paper, not liking what he saw, but he kept himself from speaking his disapproval.

Linda saw his dismay. _Nurse Barbie strikes again._ “It’s not as bad as it seems. If you do what you’re told, you’ll gain privileges. If you don’t, you’ll lose them. You’ll start at level 1a. All our new patients stay at this level for their first week. This level means no phone calls or visitation. It also means 24/7 observation. From ten pm to six am the night nurses will check up on you every fifteen minutes. At level 1b, you can make phone calls and have visitation as long as you do not lose those privileges. At level 2, we will lessen our monitoring, and allow you to start going on supervised group outings. By 3a we allow unmonitored bathroom use—”

“Wait, so before that you…” Mac couldn’t get himself to say it. He couldn’t stand the indignity of it. _This place is crazy. You don’t belong to here._

She nodded. “We just like to make sure that no one is doing any harmful behaviors in the bathroom. We’re as respectful of your privacy as we can be. A nurse will wait outside the bathroom door and then will flush for you.” Mac wanted to die. _They’re trying to humiliate you._ “I know it doesn’t sound fun, but we’re professionals here. We’ll make this as pain free as we can.” She paused to let his brain catch up. “Do you have any other questions so far?”

Mac shook his head. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. It all felt like a jumble. “Okay, where was I?”

“Level three,” Mac looped her in.

“Right, as I was saying, at level three, we give you more freedoms to go on off campus outings and patients have more control over certain treatment options. We’ll detail more on that when you get there.” Not if, _when._ **I just need to behave myself so that I can earn the privileges and get the hell out of here. I’ll be the model patient.** _You’re not the model anything. You should have realized that by now, Mackie._

“In that same goldenrod packet with the level system, you’ll see a few pages on first general rules and then specific table rules. I’ll let you go over those mostly yourself because they’re quite extensive. Let me preface them, though, by saying that some of these rules may seem silly to you, but they are all in place because they are behaviors patients have used to further their eating disorder and fight treatment. We want you to thrive here, and above all, we want you to be respectful of the other patients here and the staff. It’s important this is a haven for all residents. Therapy sessions remain confidential, including in group and all activities. No one wants their most painful memories and thoughts being shared without permission, so keep our program safe by not sharing what isn’t yours to share.”

“I’d never do that.” Mac assured her. He was many things, but he was loyal to a fault, and he’d never betray someone’s trust for the sake of some gossip. He didn’t want anyone talking about his secrets, which meant he would extend that same decency to others. He was a spy. His whole life revolved around secrets. Some secrets were better to remain untold. He’d learned that long ago.

“I know, but it’s something that needs to be said, as it break the trust within this program if not enforced. Trust is essential. We don’t want anyone thinking that sneaky, distrustful behavior is okay. It’s one of the most important rules we have.” Nurse Barbie grew silent, obviously waiting for him to review the papers in front of him.

Mac looked over the list of rules, taking them in slowly. Some of them took multiple reads to process. The rules and guidelines were long and extensive, and he wasn’t sure that even his big brain could remember them all. _Only three total condiment packets per meal. No cutting up fruit unless for on cereal (hot or cold). No sweatshirts or jackets are allowed at the table… the list goes on and on. How are you supposed to follow all of these?_

“How am I supposed to remember all these?”

“It’s easier than you think. We’ll remind you if you need a reminder. Do your best and you should be okay,” Linda said when Mac had finished reading over the rules. She made him sign a paper saying he read and would follow the rules and expectations of the program. “Have any questions?”

Mac shook his head again.

“Welcome to Redington, then, Mac. Come on, we’ll go see your room real quick before your checkup with Dr. Manning. Your suitcase has already been taken there.” He still had his duffel slung over his shoulder, but they’d taken his suitcase right away.

Linda led him down the pristine hall and took the long way around, rounding practically the whole building so that she could give him a quick tour. She then led Mac into a small corridor with a few bedrooms. “You’ll be sharing a room with a lovely man named Jeremy. I think the two of you will get along nicely. You’re both very smart it seems.” Linda’s endless optimism was starting to grate on Mac’s nerves. It was like having the sun constantly in his eyes. He liked her, he did, but after a while, it had gotten to be a little too much. He was overwhelmed, and while he only had just gotten there, he already wished he could be home. He missed the safety of his disorder.

“We’re just going to do a quick search of your things to make sure you don’t have any dangerous items, and then, we’ll get your vitals and have the doctor look you over. Okay?” He hated the idea that other people would be searching through his stuff, but that had at least been expected. He couldn’t imagine a world where they’d check the toilet and not his suitcase.

“I guess it has to be okay,” Mac said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. _They don’t care how you feel. They’re just doing their job with no regard for what is best for you. They treat people as if they’re clones who can all thrive under the same conditions._

* * *

 

The check up with the doctor had been fairly painless. The doctor had given him the usual spiel about needing to improve his vitals through recovery, but Mac was used that. The only thing that had really bothered him had been the blind weigh in. After they’d taken his height, they’d made him step on the scale backwards, not allowing him to see the number. It was bad enough that other humans would see the number, but it made him even more anxious that he couldn’t know what they were seeing. How was he supposed to live like that? How would he know to be happy or sad, calm or anxious, confident or insecure? The scale usually told him how to feel. If the number went down, he could feel restrained happiness, but if it went up, he knew to feel bad. The scale gave him more than just a weight. It gave him a way of measuring himself as a person and gauging what his feelings should be. He was lost in a well of emotions without that number. He’d weighed himself one last time before he left home— his lowest weight ever— but the anxiety was still there, gnawing at him like a rat trying to chew through aluminum. He hated having to put his fate in the hands of strangers. These people would be the keepers of his weight, the keepers of his vitals, the keepers of his feelings.

* * *

 

He was on his way to a meeting with his treatment team, which he was told would occur once a week, where they would address his progress and what steps needed to be taken going forward. The hallways were too quiet with all the patients in whatever treatment they were in. Mac had yet to see any of the patients, actually, and he wasn’t sure if it was coincidence or choreographed by the staff. Either way, it made it impossible for him distract himself from the bad feelings crescendoing.

Mac couldn’t hear his own voice in his nervous state. All he could hear was the negative thoughts. It had been like this a lot lately. He was being drowned out by the scared little menace inside him, and it was harder to find himself in the mess that was his brain. _Whatever you do while you’re here will be because they want you to do it. You’ve seen all those rules. They don’t want you to succeed. They want you to become one of their little robots. They want you to forget all your feelings and just move on, but how can you move on when you’ve never gotten what you wanted? Why would you want to when you came so close to being perfect? They’ll take your spirit, and they’ll boil it down to a boring shell of a person. They’ve already reduced you to a pawn in their game. You want so badly to get out of here, that you’ll willing to do exactly as they say. That doesn’t seem like freedom. It sounds like a new kind of trap_

* * *

 

Linda ushered Mac into the same room he had been in to fill out his paperwork. This time, the room was filled with a few other people. Mac was directed to sit in a chair and then Linda bid him goodbye, and Mac felt like he was losing his safety blanket, his overly optimist safety blanket.

“Good morning, Angus. Welcome to Redington,” a woman with a blondish red ponytail and a smile said. _These people are all so happy._

“I prefer to be called Mac.”

“Mac it is. I’m going to be your therapist during your stay. We’ll meet four times a week, so I hope to be able to get to know you a little better as we go. To my left is, Dr. Rawley, your psychiatrist, who goes by Peter. You’ll see him weekly. On my right is your dietician, Cassandra. You’ll also meet with her once a week to go over meal plans and dietary needs. Finally, next to Cassandra is Paul, who will be the nurse in charge of your case and will relay medical and other day to day information. You’ll deal with other nurses and staff in group therapy and activities, but we’ll be the core individuals determining your needs and course of treatment while you are here.” _Wow, all these people really know how to spit out information to you. You’d think they’d want to hear your thoughts a little more. I guess the digging into your soul part is yet to come._

“We’ll start now with a basic outline of your meal plan. After we meet in our first session, you’ll have the opportunity to be involved in choosing what you eat,” Cassandra began, leading the charge of Mac’s first team meeting. After that, the other’s all followed to take their turns, asking Mac questions and discussing any questions or concerns he had about treatment. It was a lot all at once, but it did calm Mac a bit to have a better idea of what to expect.

* * *

Mac sat with his tray of food, feeling hopelessly overwhelmed by the items in front of him. He’d been given a list of necessary exchanges that he needed to include in each meal and would have to eat 3,500 calories a day for weight restoration. The thought made him sick. He looked at his barbeque chicken and his potatoes and wanted to run away. The salad and orange he could manage, even if he did have to have dressing on the salad.

It was the first time he was around the other patients, but he mostly ignored them, and they seemed content ignoring him as they all handled the food in front of them. No one, except maybe the guy at the far end of the table, enjoyed mealtime. “You need to start eating, Mac,” a nurse at the head of the table said. “We don’t allow dawdling.” She turned to another patient, “Victoria, sandwiches can only be cut once down the middle. You know that.” The girl, who looked to be the youngest of the group put down her knife with a groan. “Jeremy, you know you need to keep your napkin on the table.”

Trying not show any hesitation, Mac began eating his chicken. _Might as well get it over with. The sooner you get through this program, the better. If you get through a few weeks of this, you can go back to doing whatever he hell you want._

A brunette a few chairs from his had begun to cry, “I asked for a turkey sandwich, not roast beef.” No one seemed to be surprised by her outburst. Maybe because they’d all been that at some point during their stay at Redington. Some of the residents chatted amongst each other while others seemed to be playing some sort of game with another nurse. Mac kept to himself. He wasn’t ready to anything more than face his meal.

“I’m sorry, Anne Marie, but you know substitutions sometimes have to be made.”

“It isn’t fair.”

“Would you rather drink a nutritional drink? If you can’t eat your meal, that’s your option.”

“Those taste like chalk.”

“Then, you should try having your meal, okay?”

“Fine,” Anne Marie said with stubborn exasperation.

Mac poured half the dressing in the provided cup onto his salad, so it didn’t get too soggy.

“How are you doing, Mac?” the head nurse asked. Mary, her nametag said.

“I’m fine.”

“We like to play little games like trivia or word associations during meals. You can join in if you feel comfortable to help eating feel more normalized and less like a chore.”

“I think I’ll just focus on myself for now,” he replied, shoving a piece of potato into his mouth as if to say, “I’m okay, perfectly okay.” He forced himself to swallow. _They’re making you fat. You feel it don’t you. You feel that chubby stomach expanding already. So many carbs, so little time. Tick tock. You only have an hour to get and keep this down._

Mac was only halfway through his meal and he already felt full, nausea starting to kill any appetite he may have had. How was he supposed to do this? Three meals like this per day plus three additional snacks equaled exploding. He hadn’t even attempted his dessert yet, a piece of chocolate pudding pie. Maybe he should have given the game a shot, but he wasn’t in the mood for having to speak or think. He just wanted to get it over with.

Despite his stress over the meal, he forced himself to eat the rest of his food, and then the dreaded dessert. He was almost satisfied with himself for completing what seemed impossible, but more than anything he felt guilty. Mary looked at him with sympathetic eyes, “Mac, you need to finish your meal.”

“I did he protested.”

Anne Marie grinned at his naivete. “You didn’t finish all your salad dressing.” Mac could tell that Anne Marie had been at Redington for a while, seeming to have a rapport with the staff, if a complicated one. He guessed she’d spent her adult years being a full-time eating disorder patient. He didn’t want that to be him. He had a life to get back to, and a job and family that he loved.

“What am I supposed to do? Drink it?” He asked, slightly appalled. It was just a little dressing, not the end of the world. It had nothing to do with his eating disorder.

“Your meal has to be finished completely.”

Mac couldn’t help but quip, “Oh, yeah, because eating salad dressing alone is normal eating behavior.”

Anne Marie laughed, “There’s no point fighting with them.”

So, Mac did the ridiculous thing, and he finished the salad dressing. He hated this place already. _But you’re already giving into their demands. Isn’t there any resistance in those brittle bones of yours?_

* * *

 

After the meal was complete, they had what was referred to as a “processing session,” which basically meant they reflected on how they felt during their meals and how they had felt once those meals were completed. Mac stayed quiet, watching the other patients make commentary on their experiences, fears, and even pride at having made it through. The nurses tried to get Mac involved, but he was sullen, almost as sullen as Anne Marie, who’d had to have a nutritional supplement drink after being unable to finish her meal. She wasn’t shy about saying how much she craved laxatives. Mac felt a little bad for her. He understood her distress. In fact, the urge to throw up was very much there to the point that he had trouble focusing on what was happening around him. He was fidgety, and anxious, and the dreadful thoughts of self-hate were screaming at him full force.

_It was a big mistake to eat all that food. What did you think you were doing? You’re so hopeless. They want you to eat over 3000 calories a day. That’s like a pound of weight every day. That scale number is going to skyrocket, not that you’ll see it. You’ll get fat and you won’t even notice it. The body you hate will creep up on you and take over before you can do anything about it. Letting go means letting other people control your destiny. Don’t you want to be autonomous? Don’t you want to be disciplined?_

_You’re an idiot for playing by their moronic rules. They don’t want to make you better. They want to boss you around. They’ll brainwash you with their propaganda. You aren’t even doing anything about it. At least people like Anne Marie still rebel. You just roll over and take it._

_You’re so useless, Mac. Did you see all that food you ate? And you’re going to have to keep doing it. You awful, dumb, worthless pig. Wait until your friends see you. They won’t recognize you through all the fat. You’ll be too big and worthless to do your job. Who would want you being a spy, anyway? You clearly aren’t very good at it. You aren’t good at anything, and now that you’re eating, you will be slowed down even more by the lethargy and grubbiness of obesity._

_Imagine, a fat spy. Unheard of. You won’t be able to help your team like that._

_You’ll be just like your fat, binge eating roommate. You’ll hate yourself for your body. You’ll hate the skin you’re in. You’ll never feel confident again. Don’t you see that letting yourself go is the worst thing you can do? You need to get out of here so that things can go back to normal. You can’t let these people convince you that you need to change. Stick with me, buddy. Maybe then you’ll come out of this okay._

“Mac, you look anxious. Why don’t you share some of your feelings?” _Damn nurse, trying to trick you into talking. This is an interrogation, and you’re trained to stay quiet. Don’t say a word. Don’t give her the satisfaction of an answer. She doesn’t deserve it, and you can’t afford to give it._

“I’m okay. Just processing,” he lied because what else could he do to maintain the control he had worked so hard to get? He didn’t owe her anything. She didn’t care about him. She only cared about getting her paycheck. _No one cares about you._

* * *

 

In the evening, Mac had his first residents’ meeting, which was led by a tall woman named Kendra, who had long black hair and a serious demeanor. Her voice was unexpectedly high pitched. “Since we have a new resident here today, we’re going to start with some introductions to make Mac feel more comfortable and give him the chance to get to know you all better. Why don’t we don’t go around the room and you each can introduce yourselves and say what made you most nervous coming into this program. After that, we can get down to business and discuss any issues we need to discuss. Anne Marie, why don’t you start.”

“Hello, everyone. Kendra ruined my introduction with a spoiler, but my name is Anne Marie, and what made me nervous coming here was the lack of horses. It really sucks that they don’t have horses here. My last two treatment centers had equine therapy,” Anne Marie complained. “But here, it’s just the great outdoors. Not nearly as lovable as horses.”

Before Kendra could cut in, another patient spoke up. “Anne Marie, you’ve been here for four weeks, the lack of horses isn’t anything new. You can’t be serious for a second of your life.”

“Nikki why are you always such a bitch to me. You act like you’re a perfect patient. Yeah, right.” _Nikki. You have a thing for girls named Nikki, don’t you._ Just hearing the name took Mac’s head to another place. He still had a lot of feelings about Nikki, even some good ones. Mostly bad. She had betrayed him, but she’d always be someone he once loved.     

“Hey, you two,” Kendra interrupted. “We treat each other with respect in these meetings, which we have for the sole purpose of making sure everyone’s concerns are _respectfully_ addressed to ensure healthy communication between residents and create an environment here that is safe for everyone. Please keep it civil. Nikki, and because you’re so chatty, why don’t you go next. Then, we’ll just continue around the circle.”

“I’m Nikki, but again Kendra spoiled it.” There were scattered chuckled. “The thing that made me most nervous was that I didn’t think that anyone would take me seriously here.” Mac perked up upon hearing that. He could relate to that.

“Why is that?” Kendra prodded.

“No one takes OSFED seriously.” Mac honestly didn’t even know what OSFED was. “It’s basically what you’re diagnosed with when you’re not good enough for anything else.” He still wasn’t sure what that entailed, but he knew the feeling of not being sick enough. No one there really felt sick enough for help.

“Binge eating disorder isn’t much better. It’s more recognized maybe but not respected,” the young woman who Mac recognized as Victoria chimed in. “Hi, my name is Vicky, and the worst part about coming into treatment was wondering if I’d be the fattest person here. People look at me, and they don’t even believe I have an eating disorder just because I’m not a skinny twig.”

“Let’s not use that kind of language,” Kendra chided. “It’s best to avoided judgmental language.” She nodded to the woman beside Vicky.

“Margot,” the woman waved a bony hand, “I was worried about being in a room full of white, rich girls. You know, the basic stereotypes. At least, there’s some diversity here.” She nodded to Xavier, and then some of the others. “The place I went to before my relapse was like that, and I felt like an alien. No wonder I didn’t do well.”

A new woman, robust with delicate features spoke. “I also worried about not fitting in here, but my biggest worry was leaving my husband and kids. I know that I need to be here, but I felt selfish leaving them just because I couldn’t get my bulimia under control.” She paused for a minute and then giggled when she realized she had forgotten to say her name, “I’m Katie by the way. Or Kate.”

The guy Mac recognized as his roommate was next. “I was anxious they wouldn’t have enough chocolate cake here.” The group laughed. Jeremy didn’t look amused. “I’m serious. I pretty much ate a whole cake every night and eating it before bed has become a bit of superstition for me. It isn’t healthy, but it’s how I feel.”

“I like binging before bed too,” Mac confessed, more because he didn’t want Jeremy to feel embarrassed than because he cared to share.

Vicky nodded. “We’ve all been there. Well, at least a few of us.”

“I used to binge and then workout until 4 am,” a muscular man added, a definite gym junkie. “The name’s Xavier, and I was most concerned about not being able to work out. All they really let us do here is walk and light movement. It makes me feel a little restless even still.”

Kendra turned to Mac. He shrunk under the attention. “Mac, why don’t you conclude, and then we can discuss any necessary residents’ business before we all go back to our rooms for the night.”

Mac looked at the faces, trying to gather the courage to speak. He wasn’t normally so nervous around people, but it all felt so vulnerable, and he hated the feeling of divulging such details to people he had only just met. _Hurry up and say something. You can’t avoid it forever, dumbass._ “I’m Angus MacGyver,” he finally spoke, “but everyone just calls me Mac. I hate the name Angus, actually,” _You’re talking to much. Shut up and stop making a fool out of yourself. Say what you need to stay and then close your big, fat Mac. These people don’t care about your every feeling. They probably just want to be done with this. “_ And the thing that scared me most about coming here was…” he paused, pondering it in his mind for a second, “… I guess what scares me is not knowing who I’ll be if get better.” He wasn’t sure who he would be without his eating disorder because he had forgotten such a person had ever existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Mac is finally getting treatment. He still has a long way to go, but I've roughly planned out this story and sketched out the last chapters. There's still quite a few to go, but there will be a total of 50 chapters, and this should be just over 100,000 words total by my approximation. I do have a sequel (to be detailed later) and sister piece (some snippets from Riley's POV/ other characters maybe) planned that I'd like to do (but no one asked for). Plus, I have other stories I need to get off the ground. Anyway, thanks for reading and supporting my work. Feel free to leave feedback. Sending love to all of you. Next chapter: Wrecking Ball.


	34. Wrecking Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All I wanted was to break your walls  
> All you ever did was wreck me  
> Yeah you, you wrecked me”

**Redington Treatment Center: Breaking through walls**

His first Friday at Redington, started off okay, but was doomed to deteriorate. From the start of the day, Mac was tired, not having gotten enough sleep the night before because his body was already starting to change and felt bloated and uncomfortable. The crankiness overshadowed his morning activities, but he kept it in check as he began his day. He woke up, got his vitals done, had breakfast, went to his morning group therapy session, and did his best to be a good patient, but by the time he had individual therapy with Deb, he was starting to feel antsy. He was irritated by his schedule and upset that he had seen Deb. The last thing he wanted was another session with her, the brilliant but unrelenting therapist who he deeply respected but who he didn’t want in his life.

On this particular day, would have not only his normally scheduled appointment with his psychiatrist but also that irritating, extra session with Deb because since it was his first week, he wouldn’t be having his normally scheduled family therapy, not that he wanted to open that can of worms, anyway. So, in lieu of his family therapy, he got to be alone with Deb, and she wasn’t taking it easy on him, which was making Mac feel especially on edge because he’d been prodded enough by merely having to be at Redington, let alone having to participate. He felt like he was being dissected, and he preferred to be the one dissecting. The whole thing was just getting to him in a way it hadn’t before. The honeymoon phase was over.

Deb was powering through the session with plenty of hard to answer questions. “If you had to blame one person for your disorder, who would it be?”

What kind of question was that? There was only one person responsible for his illness. “Me.” _No one else is ever the problem. It’s only you causing all this havoc in your life. There’s no one else to blame._

“And why is that?” Like Dr. Joss, Deb preferred leading Mac to answers rather than giving them to him, but she’d clue him in if she needed to. Her methods sent sparks of angry anxiety through him. _Why are you so angry all the time? Aren’t there are feelings in that peanut brain of yours. No wonder you aren’t successful. You’re so focused on one stupid feeling, that you can’t see anything else._

“Because I’m the one putting myself through it. I’m the one deciding to act out on these behaviors when I don’t need to be doing them. It’s dumb, but I can’t stop.” _You’re doing what’s needed to be better. That’s nothing to feel bad about._

“But it’s not your fault,” she reminded him. “It’s just something that happened to you.”

“Yeah, but someone’s always to blame, and by default that person is me.” Deb wasn’t getting it.

“Who we blame for our problems can tell us a lot, but they’re not always the real cause of what’s wrong in our life.”

“Who should I blame?” _Yourself. Don’t let her change your mind._

“How about blaming your eating disorder?”

“What good would that do? I can’t bring a disorder to justice.”

“Maybe not, but imagine your eating disorder is a person, one you _can_ bring to justice. What would you say to it?”

“That’s stupid. It isn’t a real thing. It’s just an abstract entity hanging around in my head.” He didn’t want to pretend this evil thing in his mind was real. He didn’t want to personify it. What good would that do? _Let me live._

“Humor me. What would you say to your eating disorder if you could speak to it?” _Yeah, boy scout, what would you tell me?_

“I’d say I hate it.” _Am I really that bad? We’ve had some good times together. Don’t forget all I did for you, continue to do._

“And?”

“It ruined my life.” _Is that all there is to it, Mackie? You’ve lost your bite. Come on, coward, don’t pull any punches for my sake._ “It ruins my life.”

“Okay, hold on a second, Mac. I don’t think you’re going deep enough with this, so we’re going to switch things up and try a little psychodrama.”

“Psychodrama?” Seemed more like psychobabble to Mac. “What’s that?”

“It’s a technique where we act out scenes to help you work through what you’re feeling. Pretend this office is inside your brain, you’re yourself, and then imagine _I’m_ your eating disorder, that nasty little voice that won’t leave you alone. I tell you that you can’t live without me. What do you say back?”

Mac shrugged, “I’d tell you I’m annoyed.”

“Talk directly to me. Tell me you’re annoyed.” That was the last thing Mac wanted to do, but resisting wasn’t going to get him out of this place. He had to give her something, so he could be in and out. 6 weeks was the baseline stay at Redington, but some patients, like Xavier, had been there for several weeks longer.  

“I’m annoyed.” Deb nodded in encouragement to keep going. “And I’m upset at the way you’ve treated me.”

“What did I ever do to you?” she asked, trying to provoke him.

“You ruined me,” he replied, teeth clenched, but it felt kind of good to say, a needed release.

“I had nothing to do with that.” _This is all on you._ Mac felt a pang of rage, wanting to defend himself, but unable to do so. There was a barrier in his mind that he didn’t think he could break down.

He shook his head, feeling cornered. He didn’t want to keep playing her game. It was taking them places he didn’t want to go. “This isn’t working.”

“Keep going. You’re doing great.”

“What else am I supposed to tell you?” Mac’s voice sharpened. He could barely breathe. He didn’t want to think anymore. He didn’t have the energy for this exercise. Maybe on a good day, but this day was far from good. _Weak loser._

“Pause a minute and take a deep breath. Then, say whatever comes to mind. Don’t overthink it.” _You’re pathetic. Look at all the disgusting things you’ve done, and you can’t even get yourself to speak with this woman who isn’t asking much._

“You already know it all. There’s nothing else to say, but since you seem so persistent about it, I guess I’m a little bit fed up with you.”

“Why are you fed up with me?”

“You’re in my head, digging around, using my most humiliating moments against me. You’re supposed to be on my side, but you’re stripping me down to nothing. It’s like I’m constantly standing naked in front of an audience, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t find any clothes that fit. You promise me that someday it will all be better, but it never is. I’m sick of having hope. I don’t want to live like that anymore.”

“But you need me, Mac”

“You need me more than I need you,” Mac argued.

“You’re nothing without me.”

“I existed before you.”

Deb fought back, pushing him hard. “That person is gone now. You starved and purged him away. I’ve won.”

Quiet for a moment, Mac finally said, “I worry that might be true.” Then, he ended the scene, closing himself off the rest of the session because he didn’t want to think about how this thing wedged in his head was robbing him of everything that made him himself.

Feelings were exhausting.

* * *

 

After lunch and meal processing, the patients were taken on a guided walk in the afternoon, but because Mac was still level 1a, he wasn’t allowed exercise of any kind. If a nurse even caught him standing up for too long, she’d tell him to sit down.

He’d soldiered through his meal, which after his session with Deb had been particularly daunting. He wanted to go back to the safety of his eating disorder, but he forced himself to comply because he needed to get back home and to normal life. He needed to get better, even if he didn’t want to.

While the others were on the walk, he sat in the dayroom, jiggling his legs up and down, trying to focus on his book. How nice it would have been able to go outside and burn some of the calories he had eaten at lunch. It wouldn’t erase the fat he had added to his body, but it would alleviate some of the excess energy in his body after the stress of having to eat and talk about his feelings.

On Monday, he’d be moved up to 1b, and would correspondingly earn a walk unless the staff decided to take it away. He couldn’t wait. He needed that little bit of freedom to encourage to continue. When all was said and done, he’d have the ultimate freedom.

He tried to push down the anxiety, but his therapy and meals had left him feeling stripped down. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it through the day without a meltdown. Meltdowns certainly weren’t unusual, but Mac was doing his best to resist one. He didn’t want to make a spectacle of himself in front of the other patients. He wasn’t the type to break down, cry, and throw a fit. He wouldn’t sob, but something was stirring in his stomach, something he needed to push down. He just needed to exert some self-control, and then he’d be okay. He could get through the day.

* * *

 

A social worker named Kirsten led group therapy that afternoon, and Mac hadn’t warmed up to her. There was nothing wrong with the way she ran things, but when Kirsten led the group, Mac never felt the need to open up, not that he ever particularly felt a strong need to do so. Although, maybe with how on edge he was feeling, it was best he not be engaged.

Little things were grating on his nerves like the way Katie’s teeth clattered his teeth together like she was chewing imaginary food, or the way Margot fidgeted constantly, or even how nice Vicky had been acting all day. It was like she had taken one too many shots of happiness that morning, and for whatever reason, it irritated Mac to the level of someone chomping on taffy two centimeters from his ear.

They were talking about the harmful ways other people react to their eating disorders. Xavier, the exercise bulimic, was droning on. “People always tell me I look too buff to have an eating disorder. They tell me how good I look.” _Imagine people thinking you look good. Ha!_  “And it makes me think to myself, ‘I look this good because I work so hard to make sure the extra pounds stay off.’ It almost makes me think that what I’m doing is what I should be doing. It’s like well, you look good and people say so, so why change?” Xavier was being surprisingly reflective. Normally, he gave half-hearted answers, seeming to think he was better than everyone else there. Mac supposed Xavier was making the best of his last few days in treatment because he was being discharged Tuesday, when his insurance would run out whether he was cured or not. Mac was lucky that the Phoenix provided very good medical benefits. _Or maybe not so lucky because you’re stuck here until they say you can leave._

“It’s the same for me,” Vicky added chirpily. “People think it’s a good thing when I’m losing weight, even if those few pounds are lost because I’ve been hurting my body. It’s not like the results are permanent anyway. I always wind up back at the same place.” They weren’t allowed to talk numbers, but they could refer to vague weight references at the discretion of the group leader. It would have been silly to keep such matters banned from discussion altogether. Still, there was a fine line between therapeutic and triggering. This whole group was triggering Mac. He felt five seconds away from explosion, unable to shake the constant bursts of irritation filling his body. _Why are you being so bitchy? Calm the fuck down._

Dinner time would was soon, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how unprepared he was for it. He’d barely gotten through lunch and snack, and it didn’t seem possible to have any more food. He didn’t know how much he weighed, but he could feel the pounds packing on, and dinner would just add to his fatty form. He couldn’t take more food, he just couldn’t.

Plus, as stupid as it was, he was still upset that he hadn’t gotten a walk. It was so unfair that he, who needed to walk most, wasn’t allowed to have that small reprieve from the insanity in his brain. He wanted to go home. He wanted to hear Jack’s lame jokes, have Bozer talk about movies, and let Riley tell him about all her dating woes. He wanted Matty to call him Blondie and brief him on a new mission. He wanted to debate Desi about which chip flavor was best. But chips were a dangerous food, and because of his eating disorder, he couldn’t be doing any of the things he wanted to do. That’s what he should have told Deb. He should have told her to fuck off and leave him alone. He should have never needed to say those words in the first place because he shouldn’t have been sick in the first place.

“Mac, do you have any thoughts on this?” Kirsten asked, and Mac’s instinct was to make a snippy remark.

Yeah, he had a lot of thoughts, but he decided to keep it short and sweet so she would leave him alone. “I’m wrecked. I’ve been destroyed from trying and failing to make myself happy, but everyone around acts as if the old Mac is still alive. They don’t understand that he’s someone I have to completely rebuild.” Then, he crossed his arms, and for the rest of group, took a vow of silence. He’d said his piece and he wasn’t going to explain.

* * *

 

Dinner was pure hell. The entire day leading up to it had been too packed with feelings and food that Mac was exhausted. His guard was down, and he didn’t have it in him to keep fighting. He wanted desparetely for the day to be over, craving the lumpy mattress of his twin bed, even if sleep meant having to ignore Jeremy’s snoring. Despite the snoring, Mac liked his roommate. At thirty-six, Jeremey was older than Mac with two little kids at home, but he was a good friend to have around. He always tried to distract Mac with chatter during mealtimes and patiently listened when Mac needed a quick vent session just before bedtime. Jeremy was fairly new to the program himself, so he knew how Mac felt. It was good to have someone on his side, but while Jeremy was trying to start a conversation with Mac at dinner, Mac was having none of it.

He sat sullenly staring at his plate, particularly at the lump of white rice on his plate, which had filled him with fury when he had seen it. When he’d filled out his meal plan, he’d specified brown rice, but the staff sometimes had to replace foods based on availability or they did it on purpose as a challenge. “This isn’t what I wanted,” he sulked, speaking to no one in particular. _You can’t eat that. It’s so unhealthy. They’re trying to make you fat and give you medical issues down the line._

“Mac you know the rules. You have to eat what’s in front of you,” insisted a nurse named Cameron, who was a newbie to the job. He was a nice guy, but hadn’t quite mastered meal times yet. He had a hard time being firm.

Mac shoved his tray over to where Jeremy was sitting, “Look, now it’s not in front of me.”

Jeremy shoved Mac’s tray back in front of him. “Don’t bring me into this, man.” While poor Cameron looked hopelessly lost about how to respond.

Finally, he said, “Eat your meal and keep it in front of you. How about some trivia?” Cameron was trying to distract Mac by challenging his brain. It wouldn’t have been a bad idea if Mac wasn’t in such a bad mood.

Nikki rolled her eyes. “That’d be fun if Mac wasn’t a know it all nerd,” The last time they’d done trivia at the table, no one else had been able to get an answer in, “so, I’ll pass. “

“Nikki, I think trivia would be fun,” Jeremy said, shooting her a sharp look, clearly understanding Cameron’s not so subtle ploy.

Mac was having none of it. “I don’t want to play, anyway. I’m not in the mood for games. I’ve played enough games today.”

“Can’t you try to be positive?” Vicky asked sourly. _Oh, great. You’ve even put Positive Polly in a bad mood. I hope you’re happy that you have the power to ruin every good thing in everyone’s life._

“I don’t even belong here,” Mac muttered.

“I think those are feelings you need to talk about with your therapist instead of ruining our dinner with them,” Nikki snapped.

“Be nice,” Cameron scolder Nikki. “And Mac you need to start eating.” He knew he could handle at least some of the food on his plate, but he just didn’t want to be a good little patient anymore, so he sat there obstinately, not touching his food, waiting out the ten minutes he was allowed to not eat before the staff would have to act. _Stupid rules. They allow zero flexibility. Real life isn’t that rigid. It’s not logical. They merely want to keep you under their influence. They want to show their power. You can’t let them._

After ten minutes his food was taken away and a nutritional drink was put in front of him. If Cameron was mad at Mac, he didn’t show it, just followed the normal procedure. “You’ll have to drink that. You’ll sit here until you finish.” _What will they do if you don’t?_

Mac didn’t say anything, but he knew they’d be sitting there a long time. The other patients ate quietly, giving him the courtesy of ignoring his tantrum. _I thought you weren’t going to throw any. Guess you couldn’t help yourself._ Mac stared at the drink, refusing to even take a sip. Eventually, the other patients finished their meals, and were ushered to the dayroom for post-meal processing with Kendra. Cameron looked at Mac as sternly as Cameron could look at anyone, “If you keep acting like this, they’ll kick you out of the program.”

“If I drink that, I’ll have to throw it up,” Mac countered.

“We won’t let you do that.”

“Why don’t you have your dinner, and we can talk about whatever you want? We’ll see how many trivia questions you can get right”

“I’m too tired for that.”

“I know it’s been a hard week for you, pal, but times like these are when you need to really push yourself. Times like these are when you get better.”

“I’ve done enough of that today.”

“Do you want me to get the therapist on call?” Mac shook his head. More therapy was the last thing he wanted.

“I can’t do anything more today. I’m done being awake. I want to go to bed.”

“Soon but not yet. You just have to do a little more,” Cameron coaxed. “Come on, don’t you want to see your loved ones next week? They’re not going to let them visit if you don’t try. It’s hard, but you have to try.”

Mac exhaled. “I’m kind of scared to see them,” he admitted. He wasn’t sure he wanted anyone to see him in this place. The world inside recovery felt detached from the one outside. He wasn’t sure how he was going to reconcile both realms. “I’m worried it would be like mixing ammonia and bleach.” Both could be used to clean up the dirt, but together, they could be deadly.

“Then you don’t have to see them, but wouldn’t it be nice to have the option in case you realize that them coming here might be do more help than harm?”

“They’re never going to let me have visitors after this incident,” Mac said soberly. He felt calmer now after his bout of stubbornness, but he couldn’t save himself from punishment by giving into the rules. It was too late for that.

“We don’t expect you to be perfect. Everyone has a major meltdown at some point. At least, you’ve gotten yours out of the way. You’ll have hard days, but as long as you try to do better after each obstacle, you’ll do well here.”

“I guess you’re right.”

As Mac took a first sip of his dinner, he realized how much he liked Cameron. The guy was new, but he was learning the ropes damn fast, and Mac respected that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Be back soon to write more! Feel free to leave feedback if you enjoyed (or if you didn't). Thanks for being so wonderful!
> 
> Next up: Faded


	35. Faded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where are you now  
> Another dream  
> The monster’s running wild inside of me  
> I’m faded.  
> I’m faded  
> So lost, I’m faded”

**Redington Treatment Center: Here comes week 2**

The second week of treatment was better than the first, but Mac still longed to go home more than anything. He daydreamed about the Phoenix Foundation and post-op bonfires and nights at the arcade. He even briefly thought of lunches at the diner with his father. That last image he never lingered on too long, still not wanting to communicate with James, the man who had done so much damage and couldn’t seem to stop doing damage. Mac knew he was being stubborn, but didn’t he have a right after all the damage his dad had done?

It was more common for Mac to spend time imagining pleasant things. Sometimes, before he went to bed at night, Mac would imagine conversations with Jack in his head, thinking of lame jokes that Jack would could get a kick out of or Jackerisms that Mac never expected to miss so much. If they were any good, Mac would try the jokes out on Jeremy, and his roommate would laugh heartily, snoring a little as he did even while fully awake. Talking to Jeremy didn’t feel as safe as talking to Jack. The air was more sterile between them, atmosphere tense with their respective disorders. Jeremy wasn’t home, but he still made Mac feel a little less lonely, along with the other residents. They were all connected by dysfunction, and that was enough to create a strange eating disorder bubble of comradery within the little group.

As he spent more time there, treatment was starting to feel less like prison, but maybe even prison felt less like prison if you were there long enough. The people, most of them at least, were nice, and it wasn’t torture to socialize with them. Plus, Mac was relieved to have earned some privileges after being moved up to level 1b, and he now could visit with his loved ones as well as have a daily walk as long as he behaved. _Wow, how pathetic is that. You’re happy over a walk. A walk! You still can’t even take a piss by yourself._

The minute he’d gotten phone privileges, he had called Jack, just to hear his voice. It was an act of God that the team hadn’t been on a mission. They’d been called out shortly after Mac’s call, and Mac just hoped they’d be back before the weekend, so they could visit on Saturday as promised. If they got back by Friday, he’d have to endure family therapy, which he couldn’t decide if it would be better or worse than individual therapy. Either way, he felt he had a good grasp on how the whole therapy thing worked. He knew how to work the system.

He’d have to face some humiliation, but Mac would get back to his family and his job and pretend that the whole eating disorder business had never happened. _Fake it until you make it._

Mentally, he wasn’t doing so well, no matter how much he tried to convince himself he was. He still could rarely get himself to utter the words eating disorder beyond the confines of his own head. The words were still so foreign. Bulimia, anorexia, and purging felt like things he couldn’t share with the world. They made him shift in his seat a little when he heard them. He wasn’t ready to face them, but in treatment, they couldn’t be avoided no matter where he ran. (Well, he technically couldn’t run anywhere. Heavy exercise was strictly prohibited, and a nurse would catch him before he could even pick up his pace to a speed walk.)

He’d gotten used to the routine of the ward, and while he hated the changes he was starting to feel in his body, he knew he had to go through them to get back home. _No pain, no gain._ They were going to plump him up, he knew, but he would play along, let them make him _fat_ , and then when he was out of there, he could drop some of that weight. He’d do it the healthy way, though. He wouldn’t starve or binge and purge. He’d just cut back his calories slightly and get back down to a more appropriate weight. It _wouldn’t_ be an eating disorder. It would just be _healthy_ , not disordered. He’d be back to the old Mac, only better, Mac 2.0.

If he could get through the obstacles treatment threw at him, he could fix the bad things later. He’d get better, but he’d do it _his_ way. He’d act obedient, even if in his head he was being defiant.

Mac had been learning how to play the therapy game ever since he started sessions with Dr. Joss. Residential treatment was expediting his education in diverting therapists, and it made him feel sly when he could trick people into thinking he was an excellent patient. It felt good to have that kind of power over them, that ability to get his own way while making them think they’re getting theirs.

For one, He knew the staff liked emotional awakenings. _Have an aha moment and they’d call it progress, even if it was faked. Act vulnerable, and therapists are satisfied, but at the same time, don’t make it look too easy because they get suspicious if you show no resistance. Give them a little back talk, make it seem like they have to drag the answers out of you. Then, break down. Be an emotional wreck and let them piece you back together with their wisdom and fancy degree._

Each meal still was a battle, but he’d learned how to suck it up and do what he needed to do to get out.

Talking in group therapy was another challenge. It was thing to fool a therapist but took someone especially bold to try to trick a room full of people who knew all the tricks, but at least Mac wasn’t the newbie anymore. They didn’t look at him with those same suspicious eyes they had the first day. They knew him as a person now beyond his diagnosis. There was some other unfamiliar face to target with skepticism and gossip now.

The newest girl, Maggie, seemed to have trouble fitting in, and Mac felt for her, knowing how hard the first week could be, but she was a kleptomaniac, so he kept his distance. He had to focus on saving himself before he could help anyone else.

His therapist, Deb, was persistent. Her sessions never seemed to let up. It took a lot for him to stay on top of them and act like a good patient. Most of the time he wanted to yell at her that she had no clue what was going on in his mind and that all her psychobabble was a worthless pile of shit, but for obvious reasons, he never expressed that.

“How does your eating disorder make you feel?” Deb asked.

“Like I’m superhuman.” _More like super loser. You never get anything right. You’re just lucky that you can piece a bunch of shit together to salvage your useless ass._

“I imagine it might make you feel that way, but how about you tell me a negative way it makes you feel?”

“Drained,” Mac said simply. _*eyeroll* Quit your whining._

“In what way?” _She always has another inane question up her sleeve. She thinks she knows what she’s doing, but she may be more clueless than you._ He should have known one-word answers weren’t going to fly with her. In the week he’d been seeing her, she’d always coaxed him into elaborating if he didn’t give enough initially. _And, remember, you need to play the game if you want to get out. Once you get out of here, who cares if you’re actually better? As long as you seem healed, that will be good enough._

“Every way. Physically, mentally, soulfully.”

“Soulfully,” Deb repeated, “Explain what you mean by that.” _Why would you say such a stupid thing?_

“I don’t know. It was a stupid thing to say.”

“No, there has to be more to it than that. You didn’t just blurt it out. You never just blurt things out.” **If only I could instead of thinking in circles before I say anything. It would be nice just to speak without analyzing every word.**

 _Tell me,_ the voice mocked Deb, _what’s eating you? What has that bitchy monster in your head done to you?_ **It’s destroyed me. I’m faded, a shell of what I once was.** **Everything I was has been taken from me, and now, I’m nothing. All because of a stupid little voice.** _Why do you think you gave into that voice if you know it’s stupid?_

“It’s not like I meant to do it,” he said out loud.

“Meant to do what?”

“Lose myself. I didn’t mean to let one thing become my whole life, but I did do that. I let it come in and turn me from a person to a black and white picture, and it makes me so angry that I let it in.”

“Why didn’t you fight it?”

Why wasn’t she getting it? Why did he always have to explain? He balled his hands into fists. “Of course, I fought it.” He protested, “I didn’t want to give in, but I had no choice. It was there, and doing what it wanted was the only way to get that awful voice to go away. I just wanted relief, and then it kept coming back, and I kept wanting relief. Now, I think it’s replaced the person who was there before. It’s robbed me of myself, and there’s no getting back what I lost. He’s gone.”

“So, do you believe you have become your mental illness?”

“I don’t know,” Mac said, voice biting. “I don’t know what I am. How am I supposed to know if all that’s left is my insanity?”

“I don’t want to hear what you know. I want to hear what you think. Go with your gut on this one. Don’t think. Speak.”

“What does it matter what I think?”

“Mac, this is _your_ therapy session. Why wouldn’t it matter?”

He was going to explode. “Because it doesn’t matter what I _think_. What I _think_ doesn’t change what I know, what anyone knows. Thoughts are useless if you don’t have facts to back them up. Thoughts get you killed if you let them run wild.”

“You’re worth more than what you know.”

“What do you mean?” he questioned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Let’s try this another way. Do you think you’re only worth it as a person when you know stuff?”

“That’s how it works, isn’t it? We’re only worth what we can do. That’s how we get jobs and succeed in life.”

“Think of yourself as child for a second.”

“My childhood has nothing to do with this. I knew less than I know now.”

“This isn’t about your childhood This is about you looking at yourself from a new perspective.”

“My childhood-self liked to make things blow-up,” Mac joked.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said,” Mac said, irritated with her obtuseness. “My inner child is a nerd who likes to play with chemicals and whatever else he can find. I’ve been like that a long time. I destroyed my school’s football stadium once.”

“On purpose?”

Mac shrugged, “No, but it was more than an accident probably, a self-fulfilling prophecy maybe or a happy accident.”

“Why do you think you did that?”

“I was just being a dumb kid.”

“But you were never a dumb kid, were you? You were always the smartest kid in your class. You stood out, and it probably wasn’t always for the best.”

“It wasn’t that bad, but let’s just say my life got better when I got older and knew how to stand up for myself.”

“Think of the hardest moment of your childhood.” _Dead moms. Therapists love that._

“My mom died when I was five.” Mac said as if it were obvious. What moment could’ve possibly been more traumatic than that?

“But that’s not when you started feeling like you had to prove yourself. It was hard, but it didn’t destroy you.”

“How would you know? She was my mom, and you barely know me. You don’t know how I felt about her death” Who did Deb think she was? She was a shrink, not a psychic. If he wanted someone to read his mind, he’d hire a psychic. _This is why I always say to never trust shrinks or fatty snacks._

“Call it an educated guess.” He wanted to lash out at her for having the gall to wear that damn self-assured expression on her face.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

“I want to tell me when you started treating yourself like trash.”

“When I started making myself throw-up.”

“It started before the eating disorder. The eating disorder is a symptom, not the problem.”

“If you know it all, why don’t you clue me in?” Mac said snarkily.

“I need you to dig back and remember the moment you stopped looking at yourself like a child and saw yourself as a problem,” Deb insisted. “Think of little Mac, and tell me when you stopped treating him with care.”

“I never did that.”

“Think of yourself at five years old. Does that child deserve to be starved and forced to throw up? Does that child deserve to be miserable? Does that child deserve to feel worthless.”

“No child deserves that.” _What a dumb question._

“Okay, so when did that change. When did you stop being the child who deserving those things? What made you think that little Mac deserved to grow up hating himself?”

 _Shrinks also like daddy issues._ Mac took a deep breath, willing himself not to burst. “How about when I wasn’t good enough to get the one person who was supposed to love me to stay? That’s when I stopped being little Mac. He left me at ten years old, and basically made me an orphan.

“Your dad?” Mac nodded. He didn’t want to think about his dad, but this woman was dragging it out of him. He was the one supposed to be controlling this session. He was supposed to have to the upperhand. _You should have played up the dead mom thing. Maybe then she’d  have focused on that. You didn’t sell it._ “And did he leave because little Mac wasn’t good enough?”

“That’s crazy, no.” _Is it?_  “He didn’t leave because of me. He left because he’s a selfish asshole who wanted me to be a perfect carbon copy of him. It’s not my fault he left.” _Isn’t it?_ “I was a child. I shouldn’t have had to prove myself for him to stay. He should’ve just done it. I should have been enough.” _Who are you trying to convince?_

“But did you _feel_ like enough? Remember, it doesn’t matter what you know here. I’m only asking about how you felt.”

“Enough? That’s a loaded question. Enough of a nuisance that he had to leave. Old enough I could survive without him. Enough of a burden that he had to sneak away. Dumb enough to think he’d come back. Enough of my mom that he couldn’t stand to say goodbye. Smart enough to know it was easier that way. Enough to be an obstacle but not enough to get his love.”

“What would have made you enough?”

“Nothing.” And that made him want to be enough even more. It gave him something to prove, and Mac’s stubborn ass loved proving he could do what should be impossible. He hated when he couldn’t defy those limitations. There was nothing that made him feel more useless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Here's chapter 35. Mac really struggle in this one and is letting the negative voice take over when he seemed to be making such good progress before. The next update should be fairly soon. I hope you liked this one. Please leave your thoughts below. I love hearing from you!! Thanks for reading xxx


	36. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I would hold you in my arms  
> I would take the pain away  
> Thank you for all you’ve done  
> Forgive all your mistake.”

**Redington Treatment Center: Group Bonding**

Wednesday’s afternoon group therapy session was a disaster. An absolute disaster. Well, disaster may have been a stretch, but it had created havoc in Mac’s head, as he thought about what they’d talked about: their bodies.

“Why don’t we talk about our relationship with our bodies,” the group leader, Kirsten, began, and Mac heard a couple groans. It was the thing no one really wanted to talk about.

Vicky looked particularly annoyed, “Oh, no, you’re going to send the anorexics spiraling.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Margot asked.

“You’re all just so needy. We can’t ever get through a meal without one of you breaking down.”

“You’ve broken down plenty of times, Vicky. All of us have,” Katie tried to calm the conversation. Mac wasn’t sure what Kirsten was doing. She was supposed to be keeping them from going crazy.

“Yeah, but no meltdown is like quite like an anorexic meltdown because you people so starved that you can’t be reasoned with. The other day, Maggie refused to even make brownies in occupational therapy because she was paranoid the calories would seep through her skin, and Mac can’t be at the same table as a pancake without walking around with that kicked puppy look all day. Margot cries most meals. The bulimics aren’t much better.”

Kirsten finally stepped in. “Vicky, you need to focus on yourself and not others. Everyone has a hard time here, and it’s not helpful to put anyone on the spot.”

“Okay, I’ll make this about me then. My body is big, so when I don’t want to eat, people think it’s for the best, but when they do it, people recognize that they are sick. They can see it, but with me; I’m just fat, and it’s hard to hear these disappearing people say they feel fat and hate their bodies. It makes me feel inadequate.”

“Does anyone have any thing to say in response?”

“I feel the same as Vicky,” Katie said, “If your BMI isn’t low enough, you’re a second-class citizen in eating disorder treatment.

Mac knew that feeling, “The problem it’s never low enough. Not until you’re dead.”

“We all hate our bodies, and it really doesn’t matter what size we are” Anne Marie added with annoyance. “That’s why we’re here. It’s not that complex. I don’t see why we have to beat this conversation to hell.” If Mac was acting like the perfect patient, Anne Marie was his counterpart. She never had a good word to say and was constantly making sarcastic remarks. The possibility of being kicked out of the program didn’t seem to phase her, but she didn’t seem to want to go back to the real world either.  

Kirsten was thriving on the conversation. “But there’s much more to an eating disorder than not liking your body, and I want us to reflect on the differing ways we may experience our bodies.”

 _Be a model patient, Mac. We’ve got to get out of here._ Looking to earn some brownie points, Mac spoke up, “My body is suffocating. I’m packed inside it, constantly wishing I could burst out.”

Kirsten nodded her approval. ”Can anyone else relate to that?”

“Look at me,” Jeremy said, referring to his stomach, “I’m literally bursting out. My body is every where and I can’t control it. I’m so gross.”

“Let’s remain body positive,” Kirsten reminded him.

“I use my body as a camouflage,” Vicky started, sounding unusually timid, cooled down from her early outburst. People would vent sometimes, but at the end of the day, they were all in it together.

“Do you wish to say more on that?”

Vicky shrugged one shoulder. “That’s why I started binging I think.” She looked down at the floor, “My uncle molested me as a child, and um, I guess I wanted to hide myself from any unwanted attention from then on out, and no one looks at the fat girl, do they? I couldn’t escape my body, so I hid myself in it.”

“I had a bad experience with a guy I thought liked,” Anne Marie said in a startling sober voice. “I wanted to punish myself, so I made myself throw up or used laxatives after I binged so much food I thought I’d explode. All I wanted was to feel okay again. I wanted to feel safe being myself, but...” she trailed off, “never mind.”

“Yeah,” Margot agreed, “I was made fun of a lot as a kid, and then I starved myself so I could never be called ‘lard ass’ again, and things just spiraled from there because I never wanted to feel the way the bullies made me feel again, but now I feel it every day, and it sucks.”

Mac thought of Murdoc, and he could relate to the feeling of being unsafe in his body. When Murdoc had kidnapped him, Mac had gotten out of it before things had gotten too dire, but the feeling of being violated and losing his autonomy, had impacted Mac more than he’d ever admitted. Murdoc never really stopped worrying Mac, always there in his mind threatening to somehow break back into Mac’s world. He couldn’t talk about that ordeal with the rest of the group, of course. The whole being terrorized by a psychopath issue was off limits. The group probably wouldn’t even believe Mac if he told them. “Oh yeah, by the way, I’m a secret agent for a super secretive spy organization, and I’ve nearly died more times than I can count. My body has been brutalized, but my mind and a Swiss Army knife usually help get me out of sticky situations.” They’d really think he was crazy then.

“I don’t use my body to punish myself. I use it to punish other people. It’s passive aggressive, and they never know about it, but when someone criticizes me, I always think, ‘I’ll show them,’ and then starve myself for, like, three days because I think, ‘I’ll feel better by making them feel guilty for their role in my self-destruction,” Nikki tried to explain, “I’m not sure that made sense. It’s kinda stupid.”

“It’s not,” Mac assured her. _Meet a girl named Nikki and you automatically feel the need to swoop in and save her._ _Mac the hero never takes off his cape._ “I’ve threatened my family with purging or not eating at all to get my own way more times than I like to think about. I’m not proud of it, but sometimes, it was the only way I could get them to leave me alone. I couldn’t allow them to stop me from doing what needed to be done.”

Katie sighed. “I hate how manipulative my bulimia has made me. I’ve lied to my kids so many times to explain why Mommy acts the way she does. It makes me feel like the worst mom in the world. My kids deserve better, so does my husband.”

“Yeah,” Mac agreed, “my family deserves better too.” _But you’re all they get,_ and the thought tormented Mac for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

Friday meant family therapy day, which was exciting and terrifying all at once. Jack and Bozer had driven up to Redington to join in on Mac’s session. Mac’s therapist had suggested he start out small by only inviting a couple of his family members so that he wasn’t overwhelmed with a crows, and he’d decided since they were the ones most effected by his eating disorder, that he’d invite his two best friends, the people who had tried to look out for him at even his lowest moments. The people who most deserved better.

“Mac, what would you like to tell your friends?” Deb asked after they’d all been introduced to each other.

“That I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused.” _Don’t be sorry for trying to better yourself. You’re a shitty friend but that has nothing to do with your diet._

“You don’t have to—” Jack started, Bozer nodding beside him. _Why are they so nice to you? You don’t deserve it._

“I want to. I’m not apologizing for being sick, but I’m sorry for all the other stuff I put you through.”

“You’ve done more for us than we could ever list. You’ve saved our asses too many times to count, and we’re here to save yours whenever you need it. Seriously, man, I’ve known you since we were kids, and I’ve never regretted it.” _He’s lying. You’re a burden, a big fat burden._

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, “That’s what family is for.”

“Not all families are like that, though. The family you get isn’t always equal to the family you make.”

“And do you think that’s why you chose Jack and Bozer to be here instead of your father?” Deb asked, and the question irritated Mac, but he wasn’t going to lose his cool about it, not in a room full of people he needed to convince that he was doing better. _Don’t mess this up. Make yourself look good. I know that’s nearly impossible for you, but try._

Mac shrugged. “My father wasn’t the one I put through pain. He wasn’t the one I hurt. He hurt _me_ , and I think icing him out of my life communicates exactly what I want to say to him. Talking to him wouldn’t accomplish anything. I’m over that.”

“I knew that guy was trouble.” Jack started talking to Deb, “His so-called father left him when he was ten, and then just popped back into Mac’s life like nothing happened. James is a sneaky, conniving… well I’m sure you can fill in the blank. He’s got no business being a father.” Deb waited patiently as Jack finished his rant, and she remained patient as Bozer spoke, her face not betraying what she was thinking, but Mac caught her jotting something down on her notepad.

“Yeah, and I knew Mac when his dad left. It devastated him. I don’t want him to ever feel that way again, not because some guy rolls in and out of Mac’s life like nothing happened.

“Mac, both Jack and Bozer seem angry about your father’s behavior. Do you share their anger?”

 **Yes.** Mac shook his head, “Like I said, I’m over it. Maybe when I didn’t know why he left or where he was I was angry, but now, I’m beyond letting him make me upset. I’m not a kid anymore, and I can’t let him mess with my head the way he did. This whole thing started because of him, and I’m not going to keep giving him power over me. He’s taken enough. I don’t owe him anything.”

“What?” Bozer asked. At the same time Jack said, “If that bastard did something to spark this, I’ll make sure he never sees the light of day again.”

“He didn’t do anything,” Mac waved them off. James had started the spiral, but it hadn’t been because anything malicious had happened between them.

“Then, what did you mean when you said this started because of him?” Jack pushed, scooting to the edge of his seat, hands clasped and eyes fiery.

“When I found out he had cancer and thought he might die, I got distracted, and then somehow my relationship with food changed, and I started to manipulate what I was eating to feel good. I never wanted to lose weight, but once I started, it would give me a temporary rush, but then, I’d go back to feeling stressed, and I needed to do more to be okay, and I got caught up in a cycle of doing it all over again.”

Deb put her pad and paper down on her desk. “So, this all started because you still care for your father.” She was trying to make a point he didn’t want her to make.

“That’s how it started, but that’s not how it ended. I don’t care about him anymore.” Jack shot him a skeptical look. “I don’t,” Mac insisted. _But you do, and that’s the pathetic truth._

* * *

Saturday meant a day full of “fun” activities. This particular Saturday, because the sun was shining and the air warm, Nurse Barbie and social worker Kendra were taking them for a nature walk in the diminutive patch of woods surrounding the main building. Mac thought it was stupid. It wasn’t like it was a real forest. It was basically just a bunch of trees with little else that was exciting. There was no challenge or danger in it but going camping for a day was something the staff thought would be good for the patients because it would push them out of their comfort zone while helping them learn to relinquish control in an environment filled with unpredictability.

“Where are we even going?” Anne Marie whined, and for once, Mac agreed with her complaint. They were just walking with packs full of supplies for no real purpose other than some stupid team bonding therapeutic quest to nowhere. **Not everything I do has to have purpose.** _Yes, it does. What’s the point if you’re not accomplishing anything?_

“I don’t know, but I’m tired already,” Margot said with a sigh. _It’s no wonder. She’s starved all her muscle away. Of course, she’s tired. You, meanwhile, have plenty of fat you should be burning off. So be glad you get to be out in the great outdoors. Some patients couldn’t be trusted to make this trip, but for some reason, they thought you could handle it. Deb trusts you._ **She shouldn’t.** _But she does, and that’s all that matters. You’re winning the game._

Mac was making the most of his outing. For the past week, he’d been smuggling heavy objects like coins, rocks, and cans, shoving them into his backpack to make the slow, steady walking they were doing more challenging, and ultimately, to burn more calories. _You’re getting fat. Run, run piggy. You’re getting huge._ He’d get in trouble if he was found out, but he was confident he could pull it off. It wouldn’t hurt him to have that tiny bit of extra weight on his back, not really. A few added items to a backpack would barely make a difference in his progress but doing so would make him _feel_ better. It was a win-win And wasn’t that worth it?

“Mac slow down your pace,” Nurse Barbie warned.

Mac resisted the urge to make a snide comment. He forced a smile, “I guess I got ahead of myself. It’s just so great getting some fresh air.”

“Do you always have to be such a kiss ass, Mac?” Nikki asked testily. “You act like you’re doing great, but you don’t have us fooled. We know you’re fucked up, so fucked up you don’t know you’re fucked up.”

“Let’s keep our language appropriate and avoid being combatant,” Kendra said in a firm voice that would make a drill sergeant quiver. Nikki, along with Anne Marie, had a bad tendency of not knowing when to quit.

“I’m making progress,” Mac defended himself. “I don’t know why you’re so critical of that.”

Nikki looked like she wanted to punch Mac. “Mac’s talked about how he had to diffuse bombs in the army like it was nothing. His mom dying—nothing. His dad leaving—nothing. He’s an expert on pushing things aside and pretending like they didn’t happen. Y’all think he’s such a model patient, but no one is that easy going. No one is that cool about things.”

“That’s not true. I’m not cool about things. I get anxious and angry like the rest of you, but I’m trying to get better and to keep a good attitude. It’s not my fault that I don’t hold onto the past like a raggedy old blanket. I’m not going to let old scars continue to hurt me because what’s the point in that?” **Liar.**

“Mac, don’t you think that can lead to you sterilizing your feelings, and numbing yourself from feeling either joy or pain?” Kendra suggested. _Great this is turning into an analyzing Angus MacGyver session. Steer it away, Boy Wonder._

“Not everything’s that deep. I still feel plenty, but I don’t let feelings effect my job or duties. Getting too caught up in your head is what gets people killed. I know how to control my feelings, so that they don’t stand in the way of me doing what must be done.”

“That’s what I used to tell myself,” Jeremy said. “You think you can control how you feel with food, but it starts to control you, and then you’re so stuck in your feelings that you can’t decipher what any of them are.”

“That’s very astute, Jeremy,” Kendra encouraged, and Mac couldn’t tell if she was genuinely impressed or merely trying to give Jeremy a boost. Of all the staff, Kendra was the hardest for Mac to read, but he was getting pretty good at decoding her responses. He was still a secret agent, after all.

“Can we just set up camp here, and get a fire going it’s cold?” Margot urged, shivering in her jacket, even with the afternoon heat radiating upon them.

“You seem very handy, Mac. Do you want to start the fire while the rest of us get everything else ready for our meal?” Nurse Barbie handed him a pack of matches. _A meal in the woods at an eating disorder center. This is really a summer camp of nightmares._

Mac shook the matches. “Not if I have to use those to start it,” Mac quipped, beginning to gather the supplies he would need. **This will be fun. Time to do my thing.**

“What do you have against matches?” Jeremey asked with a belly laugh, always finding humor in Mac’s love of improvisation. “This kid never likes to do things the traditional way.” _That’s for sure._

improvise “Matches are too easy. I could build a fire like that in my sleep while tied up. I prefer to challenge myself.”

Anne Marie crossed her arms impatiently. “We don’t care how you do it, pyromaniac. Just start the fire.”

“He’s going to burn the whole place down,” Nikki appealed to Kendra, who appeared to be amused at Mac’s antics.

Kendra shrugged, lips upturning almost imperceptibly. “What’s the worst that could happen?” she replied dryly.

“He blows us all up!”

Mac ignored Anne Marie’s negativity. This was his specialty. Creating was what he was born to do— a perfect collaboration between his body and his mind. It was invigorating. It was the reason he’d dropped out of college and enlisted in the army. It was the reason he loved his work at the Phoenix Foundation. Mac adored taking dire circumstances and twisting them in his favor. He cherished saving people, and he milked the adrenaline rush that came with risking himself for the good of the many.

Mac grinned, feeling a long-squelched excitement in his chest. “I only blow up people who deserve it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people. I really hoped you enjoyed this chapter. It wasn't very exciting, but it established some important themes and conversations that will be brought up later (that chapter where these all culminate will be quite explosive... not literally, although you never know with Mac ;) He loves a good boom.) Anyway, feel free to leave any feedback and I'll be back with the next chapter soon. I'm looking forward to many of the ones coming up.
> 
> Next chapter: "I'm So Tired" It's the beginning of week three of treatment and Mac is exhausted and unsure how he will continue with treatment and endure the rest of his time there.


	37. I'm So Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know I can't sleep, I can't stop my brain  
> You know it's three weeks, I'm going insane  
> You know I'd give you everything I've got  
> For a little peace of mind”

**Redington Treatment Center: Late night worries**

Mac was working his way through the program, but with a new week, came a seemingly insurmountable road bump: staying motivated as the weeks dragged on. The compounding of weeks psychological burdens and deep diving into Mac’s mind had left Mac feeling exhausted. His mind was drained, but his body had too much energy as calories filled it and restored the damage malnutrition had done. He was wired, his body wanting to bounce around all day and all night, but his mind couldn’t keep up. All energy had been sucked out of his mind as he fought the urges to fall back on old habits.

It was week three, and he’d been moved up to level two, which would allow him a bit more freedom. It would be easier to get away with things if he was so inclined, but of course, being at level two also meant that if he was caught doing something wrong, he had something to lose. If he didn’t listen to what the staff said or resisted, they could move him back down to level 1b and take away the privileges he had earned just as quickly as he had been given them.

It was nearly one am, and he laid in his bed, restlessly staring at the ceiling and trying to get some sleep, but the weight of the day had been heavy on his shoulders. He curled up on his small bed, pulling the low thread count sheets up to his neck, even though the feeling of the fabric left him feeling itchy. He shivered, wishing he hadn’t kicked his comforter off to the side of his bed, but he was too tired to retrieve his blankets. He was too tired to even toss and turn, the thought of even flipping his body to a new position feeling overwhelming. This is what the dreadful day had done to him, and he couldn’t figure out why it had taken such a toll.

The issue wasn’t so much that anything had happened. Nothing really had happened at all. A dull film of routine had shrouded his anxiety with a façade of nonchalance. He was acting better, more like himself, but his mind had yet to catch up to his body’s rapid changes. His mind still wanted the ordered chaos of his eating disorder. He missed the excitement of being sick, and the safety of it too. The contradictions allowed dysfunction to enliven him, but at Redington, that life had been deemed harmful and wrong.

Getting better, didn’t always feel better. Mac’s stomach hurt. His digestive system was reawakening with a vengeance and introducing regular eating didn’t always feel good. Before things got better, they had to get awful. He could feel his clothes getting tighter, and getting dressed in the morning angered him. _You’re losing yourself, Angus. You’re getting fat and letting it happen. Over a year’s worth of progress gone in less than three weeks. It takes a lot more work to make things go wrong than to make them go right._

Mac wasn’t even halfway through treatment, and he felt bloated and uncomfortable in his skin. His mind was raw, feeling like a bomb just went off in it. He was terrified of what he’d look like and who he’d be in just three more weeks. He wanted to get better, at least a part of him did, but he couldn’t foresee ever feeling good in the body they would force him to have. It didn’t seem possible that he could get over hating himself in such a short time. He doubted that what was wrong with him could ever be fixed. It seemed inevitable that this would be something he’d have to live with forever. The voice in his head wasn’t going away. It was lingering, making him feel more useless than ever, and when he could get it to shut up, he was lonely in the silence of his mind. The hours stretched, and he dreaded those empty hours where there was nothing in his head, good or bed. He couldn’t function like that! He couldn’t live the rest of his life in the ennui of a mind not fully occupied.

Jeremy’s snores filled the room, and Mac squeezed his eyes shut whenever a nurse came in to check on them. He tried to force his mind to turn off, but the thought of tomorrow had Mac panicking. It was only the beginning of week three, and he’d had enough. He wanted to go home to Jack, and have some of Bozer’s homemade chicken noodle soup because that would be ten times less scary than the food they were making him eat at Redington. Nurse Barbie had warned him that tomorrow, he’d have to eat pancakes for breakfast, and just the thought made him want to pack his things and sneak away during the night.

The funny thing was that he could check himself out anytime he wanted to, but eating and getting better weren’t the only things he was afraid of. Mac didn’t want to disappoint the people he loved. He didn’t want them to give up hope on him having a happy and normal life, even if Mac had given up that hope long ago. It wasn’t fair to Jack, Bozer, or the rest of them to give up merely because things got hard. He had to see treatment through so that everyone in his life could relax a little and worry about something that wasn’t him. He didn’t want to be the center of attention anymore. He wanted to fade to the periphery, where he’d be free to live his life as he wanted without being watched every second. _Just get through this and then we can fix everything. Your body will be back in shape in no time._ **I don’t want to feel sick all the time. I need to get better.** _You need to not be a piece of lard. I only want to help you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted._

**I’m so tired. I want to sleep so my time here goes quicker. I want to stop thinking so much because this is too hard. It’s overwhelming, and I’m so scared. I’m so scared of the future because who knows how I’ll be when that comes. I didn’t count on being alive that long, but here I am. I’m a lost soul who wants to get better but doesn’t want all the things that come with being better. I don’t want to have to change my thinking, but if I don’t being better is impossible because even if I can keep my behaviors normal, if I still have the thoughts, I’ll still be sick. What if I’ll always be sick? I don’t know if I have the energy to fight this forever. I’m so tired. I’ve run myself to the ground, and now I don’t have the energy I need to pick myself back up; yet, I have to keep going. With lethargy filling my body, I wake up each morning and force myself to get through because what else can I do if I ever want to stop feeling like the living dead?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little interlude before the next chapter. I hope you all liked this and feel free to leave any feedback. Thank you all so much for supporting me xxx
> 
> Next chapter: "No One's Gonna Love You" (warning James action is coming!!!!!)


	38. No One's Gonna Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But someone  
> They could have warned you  
> When thins start splitting at the seams and now  
> The whole thing’s tumbling down”

**Redington Treatment Center: Therapy with dad**

Mac sat in a chair next to James MacGyver, arms crossed. The hard plastic hurt his butt, and he thought to himself, **Why did I let my dad have the comfy chair?** He really wished he’d chosen the warm but plush armchair he usually sat in.

Deb looked between the father and son, waiting to see if they could begin conversation without her involvement. The only words that had been exchanged so far were introductory. Mac felt like a little kid waiting for his parent outside the principal’s office, and he hated that this was the way his dad always made him feel. _Like the worthless waste of time you are._ _No wonder he left. You’re always dragging into shit and wasting his time. That’s what you do with all the people in your life. You put them in danger and then have to find a way out because you couldn’t ensure things would go right from the start. You can never be what people need you to be._

Regretting his decision to bring James back into his life, Mac sat silent and obstinate, waiting for someone else to take the first step. It had been a long day already, and he wasn’t looking to take any bold leaps forward. He could only handle baby steps. He was too emotionally drained for anymore major revelations. _Good. You shouldn’t reveal more than is required. Some things should be kept to yourself._

James wasn’t the only one that Mac help irritation towards on this day. Though, he was the only one that Mac had fairly been annoyed at. He was a little angry at Deb too for convincing him that inviting his dad to his family therapy session was a good idea in the first place, even if logically he knew why she was doing it. She’d said she felt he had unresolved issues with his father that she wanted to address, and that he needed to address so he could better recover. _They’re unresolved for a reason,_ Mac wanted to tell her, but the since the rest of the team was away on a mission, they wouldn’t be able to come anyway, so Mac figured he might as appease Deb by talking to his asshole father for the first time in weeks. It was a lot easier in theory than in practice.

The silence was deafening. Deb was an expert at using silence to urge Mac to talk. She’d say, “If you don’t want to talk today, we can sit in quiet contemplation,” and eventually, the silence would irritate Mac enough that he’d start rambling about anything that popped into his head if only to fix the disquieting atmosphere. With expert finesse, Deb would then find a way to pull information out of Mac. Her interrogation skills could rival Matty’s.

The need to say something just to get rid of the quiet tension tickled Mac’s throat, but he couldn’t will himself to let his voice fill the air with shaky sound. Not today, not with his father in attendance. **If only Jack could be here. He’d yell at James and I wouldn’t have to say anything,** which was probably why Deb hadn’t wanted Jack, or any of the team, to be there. _Clever woman. You better watch out for her tricks. She might just ‘cure’ you. We don’t want that. Your sickness is your strength._

Mac supposed there was no better way to break the silence in his relationship with James than with a professional in the room, and while he didn’t trust James, Mac trusted Deb despite how often his rage flared in her presence. She pushed him to do talk about things he didn’t want to talk about sometimes, but she was a good person and genuinely seemed to care about his progress. _No, she doesn’t. Not even your own father cares about you. Why would some random therapist? It’s her job to care. No one cares about you. You’re the only one who loves you._ **I don’t love me.** _Not when you’re gorging yourself and food and letting these people disrespect your wishes. That’s not love. You’d love yourself if you respected your body enough to do what is right for it. But instead, you let your body hurt. You let yourself be less than your best._

James looked at his son, cracking his knuckles in discomfort. “You look healthier.” Mac stiffened, still by his already bubbling insecurities. He shrunk down on his chair, his body curling in on itself. The words were quickly translated, _You’ve gotten fat. You’ve lost control of your body, and your dad just doesn’t want to be rude about. People love euphemisms. Healthy means fat. They’re too politically correct to say how you really look. Hint: you look like shit. You can feel it. I know you can. You can feel the fat clinging to your body, and I know you hate it._

Mac remained silent, uneasy with the comment looming over the conversation but not having the composure to respond. There was no way Mac was going to communicate how the comment had made him feel, not to his dad, and Deb knew that, even if in an ideal world, she would want him to know how to communicate those feelings. She loved communication, but knew it was a skill that took extensive development. That was why she was so good: she acknowledged that recovery didn’t happen overnight and knew that sometimes little steps were the only ones a person could take. Not every session needed to be a breakthrough, which alleviated some of the pressure Mac had to be a perfect patient. _Keep working hard so you can get out of here. It should be easy. They don’t expect too much. Fake it until you make it out, pal._

“I think it’s important that we focus on how Mac feels and not how he looks,” Deb politely corrected James, and Mac was grateful for her interference. She was gifted at reading the room and sensing the energies. Maybe that was just a therapist thing, but Mac thought that Deb had an extra special affinity for understanding people, which was probably why she’d chosen her career path in the first place.

“How do you feel, Angus?” James asked sarcastically, clearly not a fan of things he deemed “touchy feely.”

Deb didn’t deserve that treatment. “I feel like you can’t help being an asshole.”

“Son—”

“No,” Mac cut in, “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I already know you won’t admit you’re wrong, so you might as well keep quiet. Our relationship is a lot better that way.” **Please don’t be quiet. It’s always quiet just before someone leaves. I’ll be left alone, not even worth enough for him to get angry, to yell at me. Not worth a goodbye. I’ll be left in the forced soundlessness of being abandoned and unloved.** _Quit being so dramatic._

Deb turned to James, her voice sounding sweet to Mac’s ears, “How do you feel about that James?”

“I don’t want silence between us,” _Yeah right. That’s all he’s ever wanted._ “I want to be able to talk to you like we used to before this all happened. We were doing so well… and then…”

“Then what? I fucked everything up? Isn’t that what I always do? It’s not my fault you betrayed my trust. You showed once again that you don’t care how I feel. You only care about how _you_ feel. I’m only worth the effort when I make you feel good. I should have realized that when I was ten, but I guess I didn’t have enough time back then to learn that much about you.”

“Mac,” Deb interjected, “do you think that your dad leaving when you were a kid is the primary reason you don’t want to give James your trust, more so than any current betrayals?”

“With all those degrees you have, I bet you can guess,” Mac replied sharply, immediately feeling bad.

“I’m just trying to direct us to a healthy and helpful conversation,” Deb reminded him.

“Angus has always been too stubborn to do things the normal way.”

“Don’t call me that,” Mac bit out.

“It’s your name.”

“And I hate it. You don’t get to call me that. You lost that right when you decided you’d rather be anywhere than with me. You left, and that kid, Angus, he’s in the past.”

“I know what I did, and I’m trying to make up for that now, but you aren’t letting me in. You don’t seem to respond to any of my efforts.”

“So this is my fault?”

“No, but we were making such promising strides but then you got sick, and everything went to hell.”

“You got sick first.” That was what made everything spiral in the first place, but Mac wasn’t going to admit that. He wasn’t going to confess the power James still had over him.

“I didn’t choose to have cancer,” James said in the voice he used when talking to idiots. “I couldn’t help being sick, but you did this to yourself.” _You did this to yourself._

“Eating disorders aren’t a choice,” Deb explained, more to remind Mac than for James’ benefit.

“No, Deb. He’s right. He’s still an asshole, but he isn’t wrong. I made the choice to eat heaps of food and puke it all up. I made the choice to starve myself. I’ve let myself vanish and be replaced by something that only ever hurts me, and I wouldn’t wish this on my worse enemy, but, yet, I can’t help doing it to myself.”

“What do you think that says about you?”

“That I’m the problem. That I’ve always been the problem. All the things that have ever hurt me have been because my own inability to fix the situation. It’s all because I can’t do things the way I should be doing them. It’s no wonder my dad left.”

“I didn’t leave because of you,” James tried. _He’s lying. Why else would he have left? He would have stayed if you had been enough, but he wanted more. Staying would have driven him crazy because you couldn’t be what he needed. You should have been better because if you were, nothing could have gotten him to leave. You weren’t worth finding a way to stay._

“Why else would you? I wasn’t worth staying. I know that, and I’ve come to terms with it.”

“You still seem pretty upset to me,” James muttered.

“I’m over what you did to me, but I still can’t forgive myself.”

“For what?” Mac wasn’t sure who asked it, but he knew he was done talking. He was getting too close to a truth he didn’t want to uncover. Some things were best left in the storage shed in his mind. He didn’t even allow himself to contemplate the answer because if he didn’t think it, nothing could compel him to confess it.

Mac shrugged, eyes meeting James’ and then dropping to his lap. He looked up to Deb. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I hope you liked this. Sorry it took so long but it's been stormy so there have been some power outages. But I'm back with this chapter and hope to be quicker with the next one. There's probably a lot of typos and I'll go back later and fix them probably haha, so just pretend they aren't there for the time being ;). Feel free to leave feedback!
> 
> next chapter: Liability


	39. Liability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They say, "You're a little much for me  
> You're a liability  
> You're a little much for me"  
> So they pull back, make other plans  
> I understand, I'm a liability”

**Redington Treatment Center: Week 4**

Week four started with a Mac created bang, and not the kind he was accustomed to making.

Mac hadn’t meant for it to happen. He hadn’t meant to make his biggest mistake four weeks into treatment, the point where he should have been beyond such antics. He wasn’t a newbie anymore, and he was used to the grind. He should have known better, but his disorder was still there, deceptively strong, clogging his thoughts more than he admitted.

 _Be better, your kind of better not theirs. Stop letting them ruin you. Take control of your own life for once. Don’t let someone else determine your own destiny, not again._ The voice was repetitive, and Mac was bored with it, but it held a strange kind of safety. Was this what Stockholm Syndrome was like? Mac had grown fond of his captor, making it hard for him to remember that he could or should leave that ugly voice behind.

While the other patients got annoyed with him because of it, Mac liked his image as the perfect patient. It made him feel good to have his disease seemingly under control while others sobbed every other meal and had meltdowns left and right, but the truth was that he was far from recovered or even recovering. Mac was like the other, only he didn’t let his sobbing or meltdowns escape the comfort of his mind.

He was struggling just as much as ever, but he was good at acting obedient and concealing the stress that food and his body gave him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t act away his mistake. He scolded himself for it. **Why can’t I be better? Why do I have to mess everything up?** _Because that’s just who you are. You can do nothing right. You are useless and dumb. You’ll never get out of here._

If only it was easy to get his act together, but it was the hardest thing he’d ever done, which was saying something because in his life, he’d defeated may seemingly impossible situations, but this one was one he couldn’t work his way out of. It was constantly threatening to hurt him, and he let it happen. Maybe this would be the one thing he couldn’t think his way out of. **What I need to do is stop thinking, wipe my mind of all worries.** _Your life would be worth nothing without your brain. You can’t just turn it off because you’re too weak to handle your own thoughts. Man up and get a grip, Boy Scout._

Things had been going well. He was progressing, earning privileges, and working his way towards being released in two weeks. He’d shaped himself into everything a patient should be and forced himself to participate in theory. Yet, it wasn’t enough. The controlled façade was cracking the more he tried to keep it up.

Mac tried, and failed, at being on his best behavior, not breaking a single rule. He listened to the staff and was open to his therapist’s suggestions. While people like Anne Marie, got kicked out of the program for being too unruly, Mac had remained calm and collected, never doing anything to draw attention to himself.

Well, that was true until he let a wave of stupidity wash through his head, and Mac found himself puking in a pillowcase he had found hanging around. **Oops.** He’d gone a long four weeks without vomiting, and then in a split-second decision, that progress had been ruined. _You ruin everything, but at least you’re doing something to deal with the getting fat situation. You have definitely packed on the pounds. Looking chubby, Mackie._

Jeremy had been away on a pass, spending time with his kids, and the staff had been distracted by an argument between the newest patient, Angela, and Nikki. On this particular day, they were already understaffed, so Mac was more or less left alone, able to sneak away from the day room, knowing that the two girls would take at least thirty minutes to calm down and sort through their beef in a way the nurse in charge saw fit.

With how much progress he had made, they’d started to trust Mac and watch him less carefully, which in this scenario was beneficial. _They should be smarter and see beneath your lies, but you aren’t a covert agent for nothing._

He hadn’t planned on vomiting, but when the opportunity arose, impulse took over. It was easy to break the rules when you thought you could get away with it. _You’re fat. You need to get lunch out. You have to do something about your situation. Don’t let it ruin you. DO SOMETHING._ Don’t be lazy _, FAT ASS._ So, he vomited, which was like riding a bike. The motions came back to him like he’d never stopped. Lunch came up easily, burning his throat on its way up. He breathed out, feeling calmed by the action. Hurriedly, he got up from the floor, and cleaned himself up with some tissues and an unsullied corner of the vile pillowcase.

The relief after the incident was short lived as anxiety filled him and he panicked, not sure how he was going to clean that mess up. How did one get rid of vomit in an eating disorder unit? He was too clammed up to think of any good situations. He’d have to deal with that mess later. He had time. Jeremy wasn’t due back until the evening, and the nurses didn’t generally come into his room since he was now leveled up.

He tucked the vomit pillowcase under his bed, knowing he had to get back to the dayroom. He’d figure out what to do with it when he was allowed to go back to his room but before Jeremy came back from his day pass. His head hurt, and he hoped his eyes weren’t too red.

When he slipped back into the dayroom, Nurse Barbie didn’t seem too concerned. Mac didn’t think she noticed he was gone until he came back. She looked at him quizzically. “Where were you?” _Come up with something good. She’s not the gullible type._

“I was sick yesterday, so I had to do my session with the dietician today instead.” Mac had, in fact, been sick with a bad cough, unable to get out of bed, but he had not missed his meal planning session. He’d been feeling well enough that he could continue with his activities later in the day, but yesterday had been Nurse Barbie’s day off, so she didn’t know that, and while normally, she would probably know better to believe such a lie, Mac was banking on the chaos to divert her attention enough for his lie to slip in unnoticed.

Nurse Barbie nodded, a little suspiciously, not having the brain space to remember everyone’s schedule down to the letter. She was overworked, feeling abnormally frazzled after being on shift for longer than normal. “Next time let me know before you leave. You know you can’t wander around.” She didn’t even look up at his face, too busy with preparations for their afternoon snack. _Maybe she is gullible after all. I’m shocked someone as jaded as her fell for that crap._

“You were kind of busy.”

“I know that, Mac, but you still should have told me,” her voice was tense. She really needed a break.

“I’m sorry,” Mac put on his best apologetic face because he really was sorry. Guilt squeezed his empty stomach, swirling where his food should have been. He was doing so well, but then he had to ruin it. He always ruined it. Lunch hadn’t even been particularly bad, but something inside him had snapped, convincing him that self-destructive behavior was the way to go.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s snack time.” _Oh great, replace everything you got out. That’s not the way to lose._

Mac sighed. “Guess it can’t be avoided,” he said, irritation in his voice. He hated the thought of having to eat after he just had gone to the trouble of puking.

Nikki smirked. “Wow, Mr. Brownnose MacGyver isn’t being his usual perky and ready to eat self. The good little soldier has gone AWOL.”

“Nikki,” Nurse Barbie warned.

“I make an effort to get through this program,” Mac defended himself, recognizing the irony, “And it isn’t easy, but I know that I won’t get anywhere if I don’t try.”

“Well said, Mac. Now, choose your snack and eat.”

Mac saluted Nurse Barbie, giving Nikki a sly look, “Yes ma’am.”

“Kiss ass,” Nikki muttered under her breath, only audible to Mac.

* * *

 

As he ate dinner later that evening, Mac planned how he would get rid of his vomit, and he had a pretty good plan in place that required some smuggled gum and a book. Unfortunately, his plan was foiled. After dinner, he was pulled aside while the rest of the group went to their processing session. _Oh, no. This isn’t good. You’ve never been pulled aside before. What if they found out?_ **They couldn’t have found out. They better not have. I’ll be in so much trouble if they did.** _Why did you think you could keep it secret? You should have dealt with the vomit right away instead of dawdling. You were asking to be caught._ **My secret could still be safe. I can’t give anything away.** _Let’s hope that works out for you._

“Mac,” Cameron said to him, sitting him down in an empty therapy room. “Jeremy came back from his pass early and was disturbed by the stench in your room.” Mac’s heart plummeted. He hated that Cameron had to be the one who he had this talk with. He liked Cameron and hated to disappoint his favorite staff member. “You’ve been purging,” he said bluntly, in the sternest voice Mac had heard him use.

“It was just once,” Mac said, looking at his fingers as if they were the Mona Lisa. Fingers could be awfully fascinating when you were too ashamed to look someone in the eye.

“I’m not mad, pal, or disappointed, but I am concerned. Slip-ups like these can happen, but you have to know that they’re probably going to take you back down a level, tighten up your monitoring.”

“Please, no. I don’t need that. It was one mistake, and I’m sorry about it. Don’t punish me. Can’t you just let it slide this once? I promise I won’t do it again.”

“I know you mean that, but there’s nothing I can do. It will be up to your treatment team to decide that, and if I’m being honest, I think you could use the extra attention.”

Mac felt like crying, shame and guilt bubbling over. There was a little regret in the mix, more than just regret about getting caught. Mac felt back that his month streak without purging had been broken. He’d been doing so well, and now it felt like he was back at square one. “I’ve ruined everything now.”

“That’s not true. Like I said, these things happen in recovery, and when we do, we have to take steps to make sure you continue to be safe and stay on track. We’re like training wheels here at Redington, and when you forget how to ride your bike, we’ll keep you riding smoothly until you’re confident enough to go back to cruising on your own.”

“I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, never apologize for the bumps in the road because those are what you need to get better.”

“All kinds of travel metaphors today, Cameron, I’m impressed,” Mac joked.

“Yeah, well, you seem like the kind of guy who likes constant motion. We can barely keep you still. Soon, you’ll be out of here and who knows where life will take you.” He wanted life to take him on adventures. He didn’t want to be stuck with rituals and cycles. He wanted to go back to his job and save the world. Mac desperately wanted what he used to have, the very life he’d convinced himself needed improving. _Don’t let a little pep talk sway you. Remember what we want. Don’t romanticize your old life. You wanted to change it for a reason, and don’t forget that._

“Places near and far, I hope,” Mac replied genuinely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Mac was not at his best here, but I thought it was important to show. Anyways, thank you so much for reading. Feel free to leave feedback. I love hearing your thoughts. 
> 
> Next chapter: False Confidence


	40. False Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And I wonder why I tear myself down  
> To be built back up again  
> Oh I hope to some how wake up young again  
> All that’s left of myself  
> Holes in my false confidence”

**Redington Treatment Center: Art Therapy**

Wednesday came quickly, the week passing hastily considering how awfully it had started. Mac was in a decent mood, even though, due to social worker Kirsten coming down with the flu, Mac was scheduled to have a double dose of art therapy in one day, which was far from his favorite type of therapy. He didn’t hate it in theory, but in execution… it was torture.

He wasn’t a good artist, which frustrated him and stressed him out as he desperately tried to create something that didn’t look like shit. _Everything you do always looks like shit. You piece random junk together. Of course, it’s not going to look pretty. You’re incapable of pretty._

The art therapist, John, was addressing body image by making the group draw outlines of how they perceived their bodies on giant rolls of paper. Mac stared at the sheet John had given him, lost at how to start. The others seemed to be drawing away, easily taking to the task at hand, but Mac felt trapped. He didn’t want to draw himself the wrong way, which he knew he would given his lack of art skills.

“Mac,” John commented. “You seem to be hesitant to participate in today’s activity. Do you want to describe why?”

“I can’t draw myself,” Mac insisted. Human forms had always been hard for him to draw. He could manage objects, but people were hard, especially himself.

John was patient and Mac couldn’t imagine he ever yelled. “Why can’t you?”

“Because I won’t do it right. I’ll get the details all wrong, and then it’ll be ruined, and the activity won’t have accomplished anything.”

“That’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, don’t you think? I’m not looking for something perfect or accurate. I only want you to show me how you think your body looks. I want a simple outline, that’s all. It’s nothing to get worked up over.”

“A simple outline. Like a chalk outline at a crime scene?” A few of the girls shot him appalled looks, glaring at him like he was a freak.

“Yeah, like that but less negative. This shouldn’t be clinical. Art isn’t meant to show things as they objectively are. It’s meant to add a layer of interpretation. It’s about your perspective and expression of that perspective.”

Mac nodded, still not sure about the whole thing. He took a pencil in his hand because while most of the patients were using pens or markers to quickly draw their outline, Mac wanted to first use a pencil in case he made a mistake. He would go back and trace his outline once he knew it was right. Vicky, on the other hand, had already been through three pieces of paper trying to get a final product that didn’t look like a butchered human. She waved her red Sharpie in the air, unconcerned.

Slower than the rest, but as quickly as he could, Mac finished his outline, roughly drawing what he perceived his form to be, and then cutting it out. When everyone was done, they hung the forms on the wall, and began step two. “Now,” John said, “You’re going to partner up, and your partner will draw an outline around your body, so we can compare what you think you look like versus what you really look like, and remember, if anyone starts to get overwhelmed by this for any reason, I’m here to talk it out. I know this exercise can be scary, but it’s often helpful for patients.”

A pang of anxiety struck Mac, as he worried, _What if you accidentally drew yourself too skinny and realize you’re fatter than you think? How will you live with that?_ He partnered up with Jeremy because they were roommates, and made his partner lay on the paper first. Mac wasn’t ready for the big reveal of his own outline quite yet. Delaying the inevitable was one of his favorite activities.

He traced Jeremy slowly, partly because he wanted to do his friend justice but mostly because he wanted to avoid his own turn. As Jeremy stood from the floor, leaving the sketched outline behind, Mac knew he had to face his own outline. _It’d be nice to be dead right now. At least you don’t have to look at your own chalk outline. This one you can’t avoid._ **I’ll be fine.** _You’ll be fat._

“You okay, buddy?” Jeremy asked kindly when Mac laid down on his own piece of paper and squirmed a little so he would feel less exposed. The cool air rushed over him, and he had to resist the urge to cross his arms over his stomach area, which felt especially big as he waited for Jeremy to trace his body. Mac nodded. “I’m fine, but I want to get this over with.”

The pen clicked, and Mac closed his eyes, pretending he was somewhere else. John came over to distract Mac while Jeremy worked, mostly talking about trivial things so Mac wouldn’t have to think too hard as he felt Jeremy’s hand circling too close to his body. John’s chatter was appreciated and allowed Mac to get through the exercise without having a breakdown. Life had left him with some semblance of dignity.

“I’m done, Mac. You can open your eyes.” Mac sat up right away, bringing his arms close, making himself smaller. John handed him scissors so he could cut out his frame. As he cut around the arms and legs, he realized how small the shape was. _That can’t be you. You’re fatter than that._ His eyes lingered over his legs. They felt more robust, but in one-dimension they seemed so gangly. He couldn’t stop looking at that thin drawing, shocked and in awe of the piece of paper. _If you looked like that, you’d feel better about yourself, but that’s not you. It can’t be you._  

He couldn’t believe that was him. Jeremy had to have done something wrong or maybe it was an optical illusion of some sort because there was no way his body looked like that, and if it did, he wasn’t sure if he should be proud or horrified.

“John, this can’t be me,” Mac said as he hung it up next to the first cut-out, much more rotund.

“People with body dysmorphia and body image issues often can’t see themselves the way they really are. Studies have shown that eating disorder patients tend to greatly overestimate their body size.” It struck Mac that not only was his body and perception of his body starkly different but so was everyone else’s. The wall was filled with mismatching outlines. It was hard to fathom that all those people saw their bodies so differently from how they were.

“So, it’s a trick of the light?” Jeremy asked.

“More like a trick of the mind. It isn’t so much about what you see as how you interpret what you see. The way you feel about yourself impacts the way you see yourself. That’s why I lead us through this exercise. I wanted you all to see that the image you see in the mirror isn’t who you are. It’s a piece of art, one that you can work to better reflect your true self, and not be a source of pain. After lunch, we’re going to have another session at which point, I’m going to have you color in your bodies but instead of physical features, I’m going to have you draw what you can and like to do with your body.”

“Not a thinly veiled lesson,” Mac commented, arms still crossed over his chest.

John seemed unoffended by Mac’s remark. He shrugged, “That doesn’t render it ineffective. It’s easy to understand the concepts we teach you here, but it’s a lot harder to bring them to life and express them. That’s why I love art. Art takes thought and awareness of the world around you and within you. It makes you work through your feelings because to illustrate them, you have to face them.” No wonder Mac hated art therapy so much.

* * *

 

Two days later, Mac brought his finished drawing to individual therapy upon Deb’s request. Mac rolled up his decorated body up, hiding it under his arm as he walked down the hall to Deb’s office.

He plopped down in the chair, the afternoon sun trickling in. He handed her the rolled-up outline of his body, feeling insecure as she rolled it out. “I’m not sure there’s much left to discuss about this. John made the message of the assignment very clear. He’s got the subtly of a motivational speaker at a junior high assembly about drugs.”

Deb didn’t respond as she got up and hung the drawing on the wall in front of Mac’s chair with some tape. “You’re not going to keep that there, are you?”

“Not for long,” she reassured. “Would it bother you if I did keep it there?”

“Yes. It’s not something I want to be seen. It’s personal.”

“It’s you.”

“Duh.”

“Going monosyllabic on me, Mac?” That’s what she often said when she wanted him to give more elaborate answers, which was most of the time. It was a subtle way of telling him that she knew he was purposely acting obtuse.

“I don’t want it to be displayed for everyone to see.”

“Why not? Shouldn’t you want to share yourself with the world? Shouldn’t you be proud of that drawing?”

“It’s not like that. I’m not ashamed about who I am, but I also don’t want people to see…” he trailed off.

“To see what?”

“To see what I don’t choose to show. It’s like a journal. You wouldn’t want to tape your journal on that wall for everyone to see, would you?”

She wasn’t done pushing, “But those things you drew on your body are the things that are most crucial to who you are. They are what you love to do. They can’t be seen like a nose or fingers, but they are just as integral to who you are. So, I wonder, are those things you truly want to roll up, and carry under your arm? We keep secrets because we’re ashamed or scared. Why do you keep yourself a secret?”

“Who I am isn’t a secret.” Mac stood his ground, not in the mood for going along with the session like a well trained dog.

“Isn’t it hard keeping all those qualities and abilities under wraps? Secrets are a heavy burden to carry, especially when they are also the very foundation to who you are. Isn’t it tiring to keep all your pride locked up with your shame?”

“My friends know what I’m like. That’s all that matters. I don’t need to shout who I am to the whole world.”

“Your friends knew you before the eating disorder, yes, but then you stopped expressing your identity, and you withdrew within yourself. A human’s identity isn’t stagnant. Our identities change and adapt throughout our life, and your eating disorder drove you to a secretive, tiny existence where the most important parts of your day were things you couldn’t share. Your identity became something you couldn’t share. You hid so much of yourself, even from your friends, and I’m wondering what changed? What made you close off?”

“My food issues.”

“Eating disorder,” Deb corrected. “Eating disorders aren’t born in a vacuum. They’re fed by other feelings and events. They’re a coping mechanism for insecurities that are already there. What made you insecure? What made you inflict pain on your body?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think about it. Let me ask another question. Why does that piece of art on the wall disturb you so much?”

“It’s ugly, and I suck at drawing. Why would you even want it on your wall?”

“I quite like it.”

“Then, you keep it.”

“Up on my wall?”

“In your trashcan.”

“This is you, Mac, and I think you’re bothered about more than just the artistic quality of it. What is the real reason you don’t want this on my wall?”

“It’s too revealing?” Mac guessed, not sure of the answer.

“What does it reveal that you wouldn’t want anyone to know?”

“Everything.”

Deb pointed to a beaker Mac had drawn, “What does this right here represent?”

“That I’m good at science.”

“And why shouldn’t people see that?”

“Then, they expect me to be good at science, and if I’m not, it shatters who I am. They realize I’m either delusional or a liar, neither of which I want to be. It’s better for people to be surprised when you do well than disappointed when you don’t. It’s easier to pretend to be whatever fits the moment than to risk being yourself.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t want everyone seeing that I’m not as confident or together as I seem.”

“You’re afraid of being an imposter?”

“Isn’t that what I am? Even at my job, I come up with a lot of solutions but only when everything else goes to hell. I didn’t even finish college. I act so smart, but what do I know? I’m constantly playing at superhuman, but I’m limited. There’s so much I can’t fix, but for everyone else’s sake, I have to pretend that I have a solution for any problem. All I do is wing it. I never know if my attempts will work.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being human, average, normal or not being sure a solution will work. No one’s sure.

“But I’m supposed to be different. All my life I’ve been told that with my brilliance, I could change the world, but I never reach my full potential. The world always has bad guys and terrible things that never seem to change. I can’t fix what’s broken no matter how many issues I fix. In the end, no of it matters. I’m useless.”

“You don’t have to create world peace to make the world more peaceful.”

“I suppose not.”

“You have the power to take little steps to make this world better, but first you have to learn to trust yourself. You have to stop hiding who you are and what you want because you’re afraid of failing.”

“How do I do that?” Mac asked earnestly.

“Keep up the work you’re doing here. Mac, I’m going to ask you to do something very hard.”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to let me keep your drawing on the wall for the rest of the day.”

“Deb, I can’t do that.”

“You can, but you need to take a chance to do it. You need to believe that you can be seen for who you are without losing your value. I know it’s hard, but I have faith in your ability to do complete this task. If at any time during the day, you get too overwhelmed, tell a nurse to page me and I’ll take it down, but I want you to try. Can you do that?”

Mac closed his eyes, knowing what he had to do. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really excited about this chapter, so I wrote it up pretty quickly and couldn't resist updating. I'm getting so close to the end of this story, and it makes me so enthusiastic to post. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this. Feel free to leave feedback. Thanks so much for taking the time to read this xxx
> 
> Next chapter: Not Gonna Cry (and then only one more chapter after that until a big chapter that I'm really excited about)


	41. Not Gonna Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why am I feeling like this?  
> Why am I feeling like shit?  
> Why am I all in pieces?  
> I don’t even need this, oh, oh”

**Redington Treatment Center: Week 5, group therapy, Redington kitchen**

After only being gone a week, Anne Marie was back for another go at treatment, and was complaining about therapy session before it had even started, calling the whole thing pointless. Mac tuned her out. He liked to avoid Anne Marie at all costs. Although, she was tamer now that both Nikki and Vicky were gone, making the group much quieter.

Their task was to prepare a meal, which they had shopped for the previous day in another session. Sierra, their occupational therapist, was guiding them through the preparation.

The meal was nothing elaborate: grilled cheese sandwiches, chips, and a dessert of Rice Krispies treats. It didn’t contain the standard exchanges Mac would be expected to have for lunch, but it would be accepted as an example of normal, flexible eating, rather than eating revolved around rigid rules and regulations. The staff often would change the routines of the unit so that they would learn to cope with real world situations.

“Okay,” Sierra instructed. “We’re going to start with the desert so that it has time to set while we prepare our sandwiches!” Her voice was bright, her long brown ponytail swaying in the air as she spoke. Sierra wasn’t awful, but Mac had yet to make much of a connection to her. His exchanges with her had all been shallow, never reaching the same emotional level they did with Deb, Cameron, or even Nurse Barbie.

The group had been divided into teams of two, and Mac, to his dismay, was paired with Margot. Next to Anne Marie, Margot would be the hardest partner to have.

It wasn’t so much that he didn’t like Margot, but she had an especially hard time when they cooked. While Mac had no problem being around food and touching it— he had acquired an obsession with doing that very thing as his disorder progressed— Margot couldn’t stand touching it. If they were cooking, she’d have a panic attack. Meals were different because they were predictable, but once they got into the kitchen, her shoulders pressed tensely, lips pursed in quiet anticipation.Each time they cooked or baked, she’d put on gloves, which was certainly more sanitary than bare hands, but it was not because she was worried about germs.

It was the calories that terrified Margot. She wiggled her hands anxiously, even with the latex barrier between her and the food. She was paranoid that touching the food would cause her to absorb extra calories, and Mac could explain in a thousand scientific ways why that was wrong, but Margot didn’t care to listen to reason, and Mac couldn’t judge her for it without being a hypocrite. No, he didn’t think touching food would make him fat, but he did have other irrational fears that he let drive his behaviors. They all did. Nevertheless, it was frustrating to work with Margot because she made the task stressful for everyone near her.

Margot went to put her gloves on, but Sierra stopped her. “Margot, why don’t you take off the gloves today?” Margot looked like she might cry at the thought. “It’s time.”

“She’s already anxious enough as it. Let her keep the stupid gloves,” Mac surprised himself by saying. He knew it was a necessary part of therapy, but he hate seeing people have to do things that terrified them. It was his instinct to protect, even he was trying to protect someone from something that was hurting them.

Margot looked thankful but shook her head. “No, Mac, she’s right. I need to stop being so silly.”

“I didn’t say you were being silly,” Sierra said, “You’re not silly, but I do want to see you make progress and rewrite the negative thoughts in your head that cause you to ritualize food preparation and mealtime behaviors.”

“So, what do we do first?” Anne Marie asked impatiently, not caring who she was interrupting. Mac couldn’t understand why they’d let her back into the program with how bad her attitude was consistently, but maybe she knew someone who had pulled some strings. Mac didn’t care enough to find out. He’d be out of there soon enough.

“Y’all are going to follow the instructions on your recipe cards, and I’ll check in as you go.”

Margot turned to Mac. “It says the first step is to melt one tablespoon of butter,” Margot read, looking at Mac, begging him to deal with the butter so she wouldn’t have to. He sighed, knowing butter was one of her worst fear foods, and that she wasn’t going to touch it if she didn’t have to. He wasn’t going to make the poor girl go through that, but he wanted her to participate in the task, so he’d come up with a compromise.

“How about you cut it, and I’ll put it in the pan. That way, you don’t have to directly touch it.”

She nodded, still looking like a cornered animal. “Deal.” With shaky hands, she picked up the knife and cut the still wrapped butter at the first tablespoon line. “Cooking really doesn’t bother you?” Margot asked.

“Eating what I cook is what bothers me,” Mac responded in earnest, “but I like cooking and baking. It feels good to be around food and not give into it. It gives me a little confidence boost. Strangely enough, when I’m making something myself, I usually don’t eat it. Set me loose in a junk food aisle at the grocery store, though, and for some reason, I lose my cool and can’t help eating—overeating.” He wasn’t going to use the word binge because that was still too humiliating, but he could say he overate, and that would make him seem like less of a gross pig. That’s the way he figured it, at least.

“I’m the opposite. I could spend hours in the store, looking at all the foods and appreciating them from afar. Like being at museum. I’ll walk into a store just to look at food sometimes. I won’t buy anything, but I’ll imagine myself touching it and cooking it and eating it.”

“Sounds like torture,” Mac said.

“So does cooking something you won’t eat,” Margot countered. **Touché.**

“I used to be really bad at cooking,” Mac said, unwrapping the butter that sizzled as it hit the hot surface. “I’d burn stuff, and start fires. I was the worst cook I knew. My roommate practically banned me from the kitchen, but then I became so obsessed with food that I learned to cook. I watched cooking shows and tutorials. I read recipe books from cover to cover. That’s all I could think to do, really. I spent too many weekends watching mukbangs on YouTube or weight loss shows when I could have been doing so much else, something actually productive.” He looked at the recipe. “Now, we have to add 14 marshmallows. Can you count them out?” He was trying to get Margot to touch the food and the marshmallows were less scary than the oily butter.

She bit her lip, “I can do that.” Barely letting the marshmallows touch her fingers for more than a millisecond, she plopped them one by one into the saucepan. Mac began measuring the two cups of cereal that would be added when the marshmallows were melted. “I watched those kinds of things too. It’s pretty common for people like us to do that. We LOVE food more than normal people can understand. We dream about it. We spend every hour imagining it. People think I don’t like food, but that’s not it at all. I hate to admit this, but I love it more than anything.”

Mac nodded sadly, “Me too.”

She sighed. “It takes all my time to have an eating disorder. Imagine where I’d be in life if I didn’t spend so many hours a day fixated on food. I graduated college summa cum laude, even as I spent all that time with my head on things that didn’t matter, but it didn’t make me feel better. I felt just as shitty about myself, and I was so lonely because I sure as hell didn’t have a social life.” When the marshmallows had deflated, pooling in a sticky mess, she took the saucepan off the stove, “Marshmallows look scarier melted,” she commented, and Mac poured the Rice Krispies, hiding the goopy mess of marshmallow and butter with the cereal. It did look better that way, Mac cold agree.  Handing the spoon to Margot, so she could stir them. He greased the square cake pan with butter spray, knowing Margot would struggle to do it.

“Food becomes the only thing that matters, maybe except for calories and weight, even though it doesn’t matter at all. And obsessing over it fills the time, but makes the hours drag so slow.”

“Exactly!” Margot cried, shriller than she usually spoke. “When you become so obsessed with one thing, you don’t have time for doing anything else, but you desperately want to escape the restlessness that comes with that obsession. It’s a cycle of unhappiness, but stopping it is the scariest thing you can ever do.”

Margot seemed to relax a little as they stirred the treats, shoulders dropping back to a neutral position, a smile creeping onto her face. Her hands were steady, eyes determined.

The gloves were off.

Mac hoped she’d be one of the ones to get better. He wanted her to be able to touch food, smell it, eat it. He wanted her to have the life they’d both had robbed. Margot had been dealing with her eating disorder since she was thirteen, and Mac wasn’t sure how she got through so many years of living in the precipice between life and death. He felt out of his mind, and he hadn’t been dealing with his disorder for anywhere close to as long. He was sad for people like her more than himself. Because she didn’t deserve the suffering. _You do._ She was good. _You’re not._ She was kind. _You’re selfish._ Margot was the type of person who deserved a normal life. _You couldn’t be normal if you tried._

Mac poured the mix into a pan, leveling it out with a spatula. He knew he’d have to eat them later, but he was relishing in the process of making something instead of letting himself panic over how they’d make him fat. Because making something… that was who he was, not an eating disorder.

He thought back to Margot’s gloves, thrown to the side of the counter now. He had gloves of his own, thick, suffocating gloves that he used to shield himself from the feelings he wanted to avoid. He put them on, and could act like he was okay, not afraid, not stressed, nor confused. With his gloves, he could have that safe layer between him and his feelings. He could pretend everything was fine. He could pretend to be the perfect employee, patient, friend. Except when you’re constantly pretending, the real person disappears, fading under all the roles being played. As long as he let his identity be eating disorder, he couldn’t be himself.

Today, he was going to be a little more like Margot: he’d take off his gloves, and he would stop pretending. It would be scary, but if he didn’t change, he’d die before he got his life back, and while Mac had contemplated death many times, even made peace with it, that’s not the way he wanted to go. He didn’t want that dirty little voice to make him fade into nothing. He wanted to laugh, feel joy, sing, and even dance. He didn’t want to fall asleep each night sobbing alone in his bedroom. He didn’t want to spend all day eating and puking. He didn’t want to starve. He wanted to love and be loved. He wanted to love himself. He wanted to want without feeling selfish and stupid for wanting.

Mac wanted to recover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mac's made some progress here! I'm happy with the way things are going for him. Let's hope he continues in this good mind set. Did you like this chapter? Feel free to let me know!! THANK YOU, lovely humans, for going along for this journey. We're getting towards the good stuff! This should be updated in around a week, but the update might be faster if I'm not too busy (or if my excitement to update overwhelms me!) Anyways, I'm off to write some chapters for my other fics (Heavenly Travelers and then Lost Boy)!!


	42. Ruin My Life

**Redington Treatment Center: Week 6 and Mac misses the thing that ruined his life**

Mac was supposed to be sleeping but couldn’t force himself to close his eyes, not with the pressure building in his mind. He was so tired and emotionally fraught but couldn’t settle down. The post-midnight hours were dragging on, and he needed to shut his head off, but his thoughts were frantic, and he couldn’t seem to focus enough to go to sleep. His bed was hard on his back, so it wasn’t comfortable to begin with, but the heaviness of his mind made getting and staying asleep even harder. He’d had plenty of restless nights at Redington.

Recovery was hard in every way, really. The beds, the food, the people, the therapy, the outdoor activities, the having to eventually go back to the real world. It was a scary and lonely place, but he had to go through it to get out. That didn’t make it any less of a struggle. Recovery required thoughtfulness and self-awareness that came at an emotional cost, and Mac still wasn’t handling it well. **At least I’m in a better state of mind now, though. I’m ready to take on the hard steps needed to get my life back on track.** _*eyeroll* When did you get so perky?_ **When I decided to have a life.** _Not a good one._

He was too busy fixating on all the things that had gone wrong during the day. Plenty had gone right, but of course, those aren’t the things that keep people up at night. No, it was the negative thoughts that threatened to rob the semblance of sanity Mac had gathered over the week, reinvigorated by his promise to himself to recover.

Mac thought of his meeting earlier that day with his treatment team, feeling disappointed as the conversation repeated in his head. Rumination was a bitch. The good news was that he had been moved back up a level after being dropped one after the purging incident. The bad news was that they had extended his discharge date to two weeks later than initially planned, meaning he’d be at Redington a total of eight weeks, and the thought of two months wasted trying to get better made him a little sick.

He could have done so many other things in that time. He imagined all the things his family probably had done felt a pang of guilt. He should have been helping them instead of sending everyone’s life into chaos like the nuisance he was. **Calm down. Treating a mental illness isn’t a nuisance, and it’s not a waste of time.** **Besides, I still have plenty of time. I can’t be so negative. I have to do this to get better, and I am getting better. I’m improving every day. There’s nothing wrong with needing more time.** _Shut up, positive Polly._ **You shut up.** _Never._

He needed to think of the positives: he was alive, he was getting better, two extra weeks wasn’t that much longer, this experience was going to change his life for the better, but still, it was late, and he was feeling especially lonely, which made him sad. Jeremy had been discharged, making the room all too quiet without Mac’s loud roommate around. Strangely, Mac would miss Jeremy’s snoring, and the reassurance of having another man in the unit. Now, it was just Mac, the single male being treated for an eating disorder, and it felt a little alienating like he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. _You aren’t supposed to be here. You’re not worth their time. You’re not even sick, and you’re fat now._ **That’s not true.** _It is._

He yawned. It was too late for existential crisis. He needed to take control and make his mind quiet or he’d never get any sleep. He forced his eyes clothes, tired of all the thinking, and he went to sleep. Sometimes, sleep was the only medicine he had for his feelings now that he didn’t have his eating disorder raging full force. He could go to sleep and wake up to a fresh start. It was a beautiful thing: one bad day didn’t make for a miserable life.

* * *

 

“I miss my eating disorder,” Mac admitted to Deb. “It isn’t really gone. I still spend a lot of time thinking about things that I shouldn’t so much time thinking on, but it isn’t the same. We’re not a dynamic duo anymore. I’m fighting against it, and I want to be with it again. I want to have that feeling of living the way I want to, consequences be damned.”

“Sometimes, you miss things that are bad for you,” Deb commented. Mac started to jiggle his leg up and down, and Deb handed him a few paperclips, “Twist one as we continue to talk.”

“Any requests?” He’d made Deb all kinds of paperclip sculptures and she’d taken to keeping the finished ones in a bowl on her desk.

Deb smiled, amused. “Just do whatever makes you feel best. Now, tell me what it is you miss about your eating disorder?”

“I miss binging, I miss purging, I miss starving. I yearn to do it all even though logically I know it’s not the smart thing to do, but still, I keep thinking that it would make me feel better. It’s so easy to use those behaviors as I fix, but I don’t get it. Why do I want something back that ruined my life? I mean, people never get better from this. They recover, but the thoughts never go away completely, do they? There’s always the temptation to return to that old state of existence. Why can’t I get over it? I don’t want to go back to the way things were. I’m terrified of it, but I don’t feel better either.”

“It’s good to be afraid of relapsing, Mac. That shows that you’re putting your recovery first, and you’re being careful. You worried about it because you know that you need to recover. You’ve admitted you have a problem and are doing your best to fix it, but don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Slip ups happen, but that doesn’t mean your progress is ruined.”

“How do I make sure I don’t go back to old habits the minute I leave this place?”

“That’s a common concern, and I’m glad you’re raising these questions. They’re important. Being aware of things that trigger you and the warning signs of relapsing are crucial to staying healthy because you’re right that eating disorders don’t go away, but that doesn’t mean you can’t continue to improve throughout your life. People do get better, even if from time to time they have negative thought. Recovery is active. It’s a process that requires effort and upkeep, but if you the put the work in, I have no doubt that you’ll have the life you want.”

“But I’m not ready. I want to get back to my life, but if you were to let me out of here right now, I’m sure that I’d go back to doing everything that I’m supposed to be avoiding.”

“You have nearly three weeks left in this place. You’ll see that a lot can happen in that time, but if you don’t feel ready, we won’t discharge you. We’ll work a few more weeks until you’re truly ready to take on the outside world.”

“But what if I’m never ready. I have to deal with food every day, and how am I supposed to go home and make the decision myself of what to eat and feed myself without fear of getting in trouble. How can I trust myself after all I’ve done to my body and my mind? How can I let my eating disorder stop ruining my life when there’s a part of me that will always want to relinquish control to that nasty voice?” _That’s right. You’ll never be free of me. I’ll always be here, ready for your demise. I will destroy you. Maybe not now but someday I will destroy you and take away from you all that you love._ **That doesn’t have to happen. I am the boss here. I say how I want to live my life.** _That’s what you think._

“I know it can be overwhelming, but let’s take this one step at a time. We’re not going to dump you into the world without any support. We’ll recommend you go to a partial hospitalization program after this and that after that you continue outpatient sessions. Like I said, recovery requires upkeep, but it’s something you can handle.”

“So, you think I’ll be fine?” Mac asked, not sure if Deb would answer or make him answer the question himself.

“I think you have a lot of support and love, and I think we’re giving you the tools you need to go out in the world. Of course, I don’t know what you’ll do when you’re out of here, but I’m optimistic. You want to recover, and that’s the only thing you need to start recovering.

* * *

 

At the end of his session, Mac handed Deb a paperclip, shaped in an unidentifiable form. She looked at it confused, spinning it around to see if there was an angle that made sense of the shape. Finally, she gave up. “What is this, Mac?”

“I decided to give abstract art a chance,” he joked, and Deb laughed a little, looking pleased.

“Any reason why?” she asked.

Mac shrugged, not fully sure why he had done it, but he tried to explain. “Well, I guess I was trying to make a bird, but I messed it up, and I thought that maybe it was okay to make something different than you initially planned. Maybe it’s better to build a road where you want to go than to take the one to where you think you should go.”

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little calm before the storm that is the next chapter: Breakthru, where as you can guess Mac has a major breakthrough. Wonderful people, I can't thank you enough for reading!!


	43. Breakthru

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Somehow I have to make this final breakthrough—  
> Now.”

**Redington Treatment Center: Therapy with the whole family**

It was the Friday of Mac’s seventh week at Redington, and anxiety was swirling in Mac at the thought of going home, but he was almost ready, but in his therapy session, he had remained relatively constrained, keeping thoughts to himself instead of releasing them from his mind. But that had to change. He needed to alleviate his mind of the burden of all the thoughts that still consumed him. He knew it was an important step, and it was one he needed to do with his family, both by blood and by choice.

Mac knew he needed to get through his big family therapy session with his entire team and James if he wanted to get to the place he needed to get to. He needed them to all be together when he said the things he needed to say. He needed the support, and he needed to feel like he was being listened to by the people who had the most impact on his life.

It wouldn’t be easy, he knew, but to get better, he had to face the chaos and the uncomfortable moments that came with it.

Deb started promptly, going through introductions and cutting quickly to the therapy, “We’re going to try a little psychodrama today, which Mac has found to be helpful in some other sessions.”

“Psychodrama?” James questioned, always a skeptic. _He’s going to think this all is stupid._ **And that’s on my dad, not me. James thinking something I do is stupid doesn’t make me stupid.** _Doesn’t it?_

“All that means is that we’re going to act out a little scene to help Mac get some feelings out.” _Feelings, your dad isn’t into feelings._

“So, who are we playing?” Jack asked, looking enthusiastic to show off his acting chops (or lack thereof). **It’s good to have a friend like him.**

“Well, in this case, it’s more like what than who,” Deb explained. “You’ll each be abstract ideas that have a role in Mac’s mental state.

“Oh great,” James mumbled under his breath, and Mac tried to push the comment from his mind. He didn’t need that kind of negativity during his recovery. _It’s not negativity. It’s being realistic._

“James, since you’ve known Mac the longest, I want you to pose as his _eating disorder_.” James crossed his arms, not seeming pleased.

Deb continued, “Jack, you’re Mac’s protector, so I want you to pose as his **body**.”

She gestured to Mac’s forever friend, “Bozer, you knew Mac as a child, so you’ll be his **childhood self** in this scene.”

Then, Matty, “Matty, Mac admires you, and I want you to represent _fear_. You seem imposing enough for it.” Deb got that right.

“As a great confidant to Mac, I want you, Riley, to act as Mac’s **self-worth**.

“Desi, you’re a newcomer to the group, but you’ve become an important part of his life, so I want you to be his _appetite_.”

“I don’t know how to act like hunger,” Desi commented, looking a little uncomfortable, which was fair. She didn’t know Mac as well as the others, but he still considered her part of their family. She looked anxious more than unwilling to try. James, meanwhile, didn’t seem to want to even try.

“Follow Mac’s lead. There’s no wrong way to do it. I’ll redirect the scene if it gets off track.” She gave Mac a reassuring nod, “Mac, start wherever you want. I’ll reel things in if they start to get beyond your control” **Thank the universe for Deb.**  

Starting easy, Mac went to Desi first. Speaking to his appetite wouldn’t take as much out of him as the others. Appetite had a lot to do with eating, but appetite itself hadn’t caused his eating disorder. Rather, it had been caused by deeper feelings, and appetite had been used as a bandage, slapped on to cover up the true wound.

If he had done this exercise a few weeks ago, he’d have stubbornly started with James, wanting to show that he could take the hardest challenge right out of the gate, but he’d been learning that there was nothing wrong with having to work up to things, to start out small and gradually face your issues. He could apply that lesson to many areas of his life, he had realized, work being one of them. He took a breath, steadying his voice. “I didn’t give you the attention you deserved. I didn’t think you’d be good for me. I want something I couldn’t have, and I punished you for it, treating you like the enemy of my body instead of an asset.”

Desi looked at loss for words. She wasn’t sure she understood how this whole psychodrama thing worked, but she wanted to help Mac. She wanted to prove that she could be a good friend and part of the family. It took her a while to open, but she’d been trying harder, especially since Mac got sick. Thankfully, Mac continued before she said anything, giving her a quick reprieve from having to respond. “I know I should have been more attentive, but you’re not the easiest to read. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell if you’re really hunger, thirst, boredom, or loneliness. It’s still hard to tell, but I’m working on it.”

“In time, I know it will get better,” Desi reassured woodenly. She tried to add more life to her voice, “You’re doing really well, Mac.”

Mac nodded, “I just need to learn to work with you instead of against you. We can coexist, and even be great together. We can be a team.”

“I’d like that.” He’d been obsessed with trying to control his appetite, but that had only hurt him, made it harder to listen to what his body was saying. Mac still fought his appetite, but he knew he was making progress, slow and not-so-steady. He was learning how to not demonize his appetite. He was learning that it could be a friend. It would take time, but someday maybe he could be comfortable with his want for food, regardless of what reason he wanted it, and not feel compelled by his urges.

Next, he knew he had to address Jack, his friend who’d taken care of him for so long, who had dragged him to treatment in the first place. His bodyguard and for this activity, his body.

 “I’m sorry.” Mac said to Jack, eye a little watery.

“You don’t have to be sorry, kid.” Of course, Jack was going to let him off easy and be understanding. _He’s not your father._

Deb chimed in sweetly, “Remember, Jack, Mac is talking to his body through you.”

Jack nodded, and then turned back to Mac. “It’s water under the bridge. You’re being better to me now.”

“I know, but I am still so sorry because I put you through hell.”

“It’s okay. I’m not mad. I’m just glad you’re getting better. All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, was to keep you safe.”

“It’s not okay. I deprived you of what you needed. I made you keep me alive when I didn’t want to do it myself. I resisted. I fought against you because I hated myself. I used you as a scapegoat for all my problems when you didn’t do anything wrong.” Mac turned to Bozer, “And I’m sorry to you too. I didn’t treat you as I should have. I blamed you for things that weren’t your fault. I took advantage of your goodness. I yelled at you.  I didn’t treat you with kindness. You— little me— didn’t deserve that. I should have kept you safe, shielded you from all the bad things instead of blaming you.”

“But I’m okay,” Bozer replied. “Despite it all, I’m still here. I’ll always be here. I’m more resilient than you know.”

“And I’m healing,” Jack added, “You won’t have to keep hurting me anymore.”

“I shouldn’t have put you through that in the first place. I should have treated you the way you deserved, but I hurt you because I let fear get in the way.”

Mac took a deep breath. He knew Matty wouldn’t be offended because of some role playing, but the things he had to say to his fear was going to be hard. He hated that she had to play this role because he didn’t have negative thoughts towards her, but James couldn’t play all the bad roles, and Matty was the perfect candidate for the part. She was tough enough to hear Mac speak at her harshly. Jack, Boze, or Riley would surely feel hurt hearing those words, even if it was only directed to the thing they were playing, but Matty, Matty would understand. Even so, he murmured, “I’m sorry” to her, and knew she was prepared for what was to come from her almost imperceptible nod of understanding. “I let you tell me what to do. I let you push me into dangerous situations because I’m afraid of letting good things happen to me. I’m afraid of losing all the things I love because I’m too busy being happy to stop all the bad things that come.”

“That’s not all, is it? What else have I done to you?” Matty prodded in a voice that would have made Deb proud.

“You brought me close to the thing that had the power to destroy me. You told me you were taking me to safety, but you only gave me more to be afraid. Fear dies if it doesn’t grow. You needed me to stay afraid. You needed me to be unhappy and terrified of change so that I never dared to see a life outside of my safety bubble.” **Stupid eating disorder, that stupid bubble of fear posing as safety. I’m so angry about all it has taken from me. I’m so angry, so, so angry.** _Time to face the beast. Hehe. Come on, Angus, speak up and face me._

Mac spoke to his dad next, unable to look the man in the eyes, rage fuming in his chest. “You’re the one that gives me fear. You make me terrified of things I shouldn’t be afraid of, but I’m over being scared. Right now, I’m angry at you. I’m so angry because you ruined my life.”

“I didn’t ruin your life, Angus,” James refuted, getting defensive even though he was playing a role. They both knew it was much more than a role.

Mac looked up, “Let me talk. For once, let me talk.”

“Fine,” James said, unable to help himself from speaking. _You dumb fool. Don’t do this. Take a breath and put all your dumb thoughts back into your brain. There’s no need to let them roll off your tongue. You’re supposed to be in control. Show it._

Mac tried to keep calm as he spoke, but the fire remained in his voice, dim but just as hot. “Can’t you see your culpability? Look at what I’ve become. You were supposed to do what was best for me. You promised to take care of me, but all you care about is making me into your little minion. I’m only as good as how well I can follow your directions.” _You’ve never been able to follow them well. You weren’t what I wanted in a minion. I have to work so hard for you to act in a halfway decent way, and you mess up all the time. You put so much into a kid that you expect to get something out, but all I got from you was misery._

“That’s not true, Son. I love you.” _No one loves you, least of all me._

“Is love constantly making me prove myself? Is love hurting my body and my mind? Is love permanent damage? Is love forgetting there’s anything good about being alive? Because if it is that’s not the kind of love he deserves,” Mac said pointing to Bozer. He thought of himself at ten years old and knew that little him was worth more. “He deserves someone who will love him no matter what he eats or doesn’t eat, weighs or doesn’t weigh. He shouldn’t have felt he had to prove himself. _I_ shouldn’t feel that way.” _Quit being so dramatic. The world doesn’t revolve around you and your idiotic “problems.” There are people so much worse off than you._

“I want what’s best for you,” James said, and it sounded like a bad copy of Jack’s earlier sentiment. _I only want what’s best for you, but what’s best for you is what I want._

“You can’t. If you did, you wouldn’t make me feel the way I do. You make we wonder how anyone could love me.” Mac crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling cold. “I don’t understand how a person like me could ever be loved because you make me feel like there’s nothing here for anyone to love.”

Deb nodded at Riley, who looked as though she wanted to interject. Playing Mac’s self-worth, she broke into the conversation, “People love you because you’re smart, kind, and the best friend I could ask for. You’re brave, and you always do what’s right. I admire you, we all do, and you’re more valuable than you’ll ever know because we’d all be lost without you.” She sniffled, trying to stop herself from crying.

Jack took a turn next, “Without you, there is no me. I can’t survive without you. We’ve got to work together, body and mind. You go kaboom, I go kaboom, remember?”

“My mind isn’t mine anymore,” Mac realized, glancing at James. “You overtook my brain, and now, I don’t even know who I am anymore. You’ve taken all I am, and you’ve reduced to a sad, scared shell of what I was.”

James’ brows scrunched together in rage. “I didn’t do anything to you.” The comment made Mac fizzle inside. _This is all your fault. You’re responsible for your own destruction. I never did anything to you._

“You left me!” Mac shouted, and the room went quiet.

“I’m here now,” James tried.

“Where were you when I needed you? When I was ten and thinking I’d done something to push you away, where were you? Because it sure wasn’t protecting me. You were supposed to keep me safe and take care of me, not toss me aside like I was a piece of trash.”

“It’s not like I left you in an orphanage. I knew your grandfather would look out for you.”

“I wanted my dad! I was your responsibility, but you pawned me off without even a goodbye. I spent my tenth birthday, not knowing that you’d be gone for nearly two decades. I wanted you to be there. I wanted your love, but I grew up thinking that you hated me.” _Stop this nonsense, right now. Control yourself. Anger is unbecoming. Listen to me, Angus. Be obedient. Do what I say and you’ll earn the love you think you want._ “I wanted to please you, but I know now that you can’t be pleased. You’re just a stupid little monster in my brain, twisting my thoughts and trying to get me to kill myself on an impossible mission. I can’t make you love me.”

“I do love you.” _I’m the only one who loves you._ “And I’m not going anywhere.” _I’m not going anywhere._ “I left once, and I have no intention on doing it again. I left to keep you safe and it was wrong, but at the time, I thought it was what I had to do.”

“You didn’t have to leave. You could have kept me safe a million other ways. You’re deluding yourself, so I really can’t trust any of your promises. You only like me when you’re my boss, giving me orders and making me do whatever is best for you.” _I’ll never leave. I like terrorizing you. It’s what you’ve earned._ “You’ll leave me when I stop doing what you tell me. When I stop letting you control me, you’ll leave me alone. You want to control me, and I can’t keep letting you because, you know what, it sucks, all of this, and I’m so angry about what you did to me.”

Deb spoke up, trying to focus Mac on the task at hand, “Mac, what did your eating disorder do to you? Tell it the damage it’s done.” _I’ve only done things that were good for you. Don’t listen to Deb. She knows nothing about you, me, or our relationship. She’s messing with your brain, trying to fool you. She doesn’t care about you getting better. She only cares about getting paid for your sickness._ **I can’t be quiet anymore. I have to get all these feelings off my chest, so they can stop hurting me. I can’t keep pretending I’m fine. I can’t keep listening to my eating disorder. I can’t censor my emotions. I have to feel them, let them exist without killing me.**

“Here’s what I want to say to my eating disorder,” Mac said. “I want to say that I don’t need you in my life anymore. I don’t need you telling me how I am supposed to be feeling or what I’m supposed to be eating. I know you’ll always be there. I can’t erase you from my life or my mind, but you don’t have power over me. I won’t let you to continue to hurt me or treat me like I’m a prop in your life. I’m taking back my body and my mind.

“The coup is over, and I’m the one who gets to make decisions around here, and I’m deciding to be happy and healthy. I’m deciding to focus on the people who make me feel good instead of the ones that make me feel bad. You’ve taken up way too much of my headspace, and I need room in there for things that give me joy. I need to feel, both the good and bad, and with you there, I’m too numb to even know my own self. You’ve disconnected me from who I am, and I can’t live like that. I can’t live trying to satisfy something that feeds off dissatisfaction.”

Mac turned to Deb, unable to say the last words to his father, playing a character or not, “I’d like to tell my eating disorder that I hate it, and I’d like it to know that I can survive without because I’m worth more.”

 _You are_ , the voice conceded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHH!! Hello! I hope you liked this chapter. This one was super fun for me to write and had a lot of moments I've been waiting patiently to bring into this story for a long time. It's the last big one (length wise) for this story. Thank you so much for reading, and feel free to leave a comment.


	44. Learn to Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Had a boogieman under my bed  
> Putting crazy thoughts inside my head  
> Always whispering, "It's all your fault"  
> He was telling me, "No, you're not that strong"

**Dizzy Lizzy Café: Week 8 of treatment**

Before Mac’s release, his treatment team wanted him to get a taste of life outside of the treatment bubble, so Cameron had taken him and Margot out for dinner at a café called Dizzy Lizzy. It was a cute little restaurant with big windows and music memorabilia on the wall. The second he walked in, Mac could smell fresh pastries, and his first instinct was to want one, and his second instinct was to hate himself for wanting one. _Don’t want what you shouldn’t have. ‘Recovery’ has made you so greedy, piggy._

They sat down at a small table by the window, and the smiley waitress put freshly laminated menus down in front of them, the smell of baked goods still wafting, tempting Mac. Mac looked at the menu, feeling strange and out of place. It was weird eating outside of Redington, and the freedom of being in the normal world with normal choices was daunting. Making his own food decisions free of some of Redington’s restrictions was challenging because it was a break from the clinical safety he’d gotten so used to.

Mac and Margot were allowed to order whatever they wanted to as long as they ordered an actual entrée and not something like a side salad, which Mac was okay with, but that didn’t make the choice easy because there was still a battle in his mind that came with food, an automatic debate that began the second he tried to make a decision.

Ordering at a restaurant had so many variables not found in the structured world of treatment. This was the real world, and in the real world, decisions came with a lot more strings attached and a lot more what ifs.

There were two options he could pursue while at the café. He had the choice to challenge himself or do what was most comfortable, and looking at the menus, he wasn’t sure which one he wanted to make. It was only one meal away from his safe bubble, but he missed Redington, where he had to eat what they put in front of him. At Redington, it was easy because decisions about how much and what foods were being made for him, and he didn’t have to take responsibility for his food choices. He could tell himself, **I’m only eating this because they’re forcing me to,** and it would appease his eating disorder voice a little. It made him feel less guilty for eating more than he would normally allow when he was being forced to do so, but now, he would have to take full responsibility for whatever he did or didn’t eat. He’d be solely accountable, and he’d have to face the full wrath of all the doubt in his head.

Margot was tense beside him, eyes skimming the menu quickly, and her could see the calculations occurring in her head as her face contorted and fingers ticked to show she was counting. He couldn’t help but do the same. It was instinct to do it the instant he opened a menu and he couldn’t help himself from looking at the calories before he even looked at the name of the dish. He’d think of how the calories would change if he made certain substitutions, trying to determine what would be the best for him and still taste good. The analysis of each food was a chore, but one he couldn’t help doing even now that he was doing a lot better.

Mac scanned the menu again, feeling the weight of all the options. He looked at one option and quickly wrote it off. _760 calories for a salad? Are you kidding? Some of these sandwiches have less calories than that. Salads should be healthy. Not nearly 800 calories. That’s more than you should be having in a whole day._ **I don’t think…** _Exactly. You don’t think._ **Calories don’t have to matter.** _Of course, they matter. If you stop counting them, you’ll get fat. It’s bad enough that you’ve been eating so many, but at least you know how much damage you’re doing. If you just eat without regard for what you’re eating, you’ll be lost._

**The buffalo chicken sandwich on the croissant looks good.** _Are you crazy? That would be like putting trash in your body. Just get something light. A salad, but not the 760 calorie salad. The green salad has nothing on it practically. Doesn’t that sound good?_ **No.** _Fine, choose something else, but make it something that won’t ruin you completely._

**Like what?**

_If you get a grilled chicken salad, you can ask them to leave off all the bad stuff. You can leave off the cheese and the dressing, and then it won’t be so bad. Tell them that instead of a croissant as your side you want steamed broccoli. That’s the healthy option._ **But the croissant would be so good.** _It’s a fleeting pleasure. Being in shape is an enduring one so long as you play by my rules._

_Don’t you realize that once you start eating, you won’t be able to stop. That’s why you have to count. You’re not strong enough to resist._ **Maybe I’m not, but I’ll never know if I don’t try. Even if I make the wrong choice, one bad meal won’t destroy me just like one good one can’t fix me.**

Mac sighed, uncertain but having decided what he would get, firm in his choice. He tuned out his racing thought, bickering in his head, trying not to overthink this choice. The waitress flitted back to their table, smile still on her face. “What can I get y’all?”

Mac started, “I’ll have the grilled chicken salad with the chipotle dressing.”

“Is the croissant okay as your side?” _No, don’t do it. Don’t you dare do it._

Despite his doubts, Mac nodded, “A croissant is fine.

The waitress turned to Margot, “And for you?”

Margot looked at Mac, sighing in relief as she closed her menu, glad to follow Mac’s lead. “I’ll have the same.” _Oh, look at you. Making bad decisions for two._ **No, I’m learning to let go.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm very pleased with Mac's process, but I don't want it to seem like he goes into treatment and then is instantly better like a lot of stories do, so I like to highlight that the negative thoughts are very much still there (the subject of the sequel no one asked for but I'm writing anyway) but that he's combating them increasingly and questioning these thoughts, which is exactly what he should be doing! The remaining chapters will probably just be little snippets like this detailing the aftermath of Mac's breakthrough and wrapping the story up! But I've decided to split them up into little thematic moments to deal with certain areas I still want to cover and ensure I show before the end of this story! Fear not, though, there are still great moments of healing and family that I think you'll like. Anyways, you're all beautiful, wonderful people and I'm so glad if you're reading this still. Thanks so much! Feel free to leave a comment if you are so inclined! Updates should be pretty quick because the chapters should be pretty easy to write. Whew, that was a lot of notes!


	45. Be Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know you love her but it’s over, mate  
> It doesn’t matter, put the phone away  
> It’s never easy to walk away  
> Let her go, it’ll be okay”

**Redington Treatment Center: The End**

Mac was in bed, trying to sleep but there was too much excitement in his stomach to do so, a nervous and happy excitement.

Tomorrow he was being discharged from Redington and it was a thrilling, yet disconcerting concept. He’d see his family, and he couldn’t wait for that, but there were plenty of things to lose sleep over. The real world awaited him, but he was still so far away from normal, and he knew that things would never get back to normal, at least not the normal that used to be. Deb had prepared him for that fact, warning him that he shouldn’t expect to ever be the person he was before his eating disorder and that while he could still have a great life, the fight wouldn’t stop simply because he started to feel better.

 _Once you leave here, you can do what you want. You can restrict, you can purge, you can lose weight._ **I can be miserable, or I can be happy, and if I go back to doing those things, I’ll hate my life and myself. I have to resist the temptation of those bad coping mechanism because I deserve to be better, and I don’t want to be sick anymore.** It was terrifying to think what would happen once Mac left Redington.

He didn’t trust himself and worried that about all the dangers of the big bad world. There were so many triggers that he knew would tempt him to do bad things. Could he handle them? Could he be around his dad without feeling the irresistible urge to binge and purge? Could he eat a piece of birthday cake without having to run five miles? Could he miss lunch while on the job without wanting to miss all his lunches for a month? Mac wasn’t sure, but he knew that he had to try because he couldn’t spend his life in a treatment center. He’d have to face the clusterfuck of feelings eventually, and logically, he knew he wouldn’t be alone. He was going to a partial hospitalization program for a while, and then, he would continue outpatient treatment thereafter. Plus, he had the team. They would hold him accountable or hold his hand if he needed them to. They would keep him safe just as he would keep them safe if he knew they were in trouble. They would be there for him, and he could talk about this with them now that it wasn’t a secret anymore, a dirty little secret between Mac and his brain.

_You’re going to mess everything up like you always do._ **No, I won’t because I have all the tools that I need to be better. I’ll be okay. I need to be okay. It’s time to take my life back and take the chance on myself. I believe in me, and I’m worth the risk. I’m worth the work. I’m worth resisting the temptation. I’m worth recovery.**

_You'll miss me._ **Maybe, but I have to let you go.** Mac exhaled, feeling a sense of relief at the thought, one he'd not allowed himself to think for so long.  **And I'll be better off without you, even if sometimes I'll think of you and want you back. I'll want to beg you to be part of my life again, but I won't because some relationships are toxic, even relationships with ourselves.**

 _You'll come back to me._ **No** , he decided, **I won't.**   **I’m going to be alright.**

 

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing too exciting, but like I said, these end chapters will just be little important snippets to wrap things up. Thanks so much for reading, incredible readers of mine!!


	46. Road Ode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve been on this lonely road so long.  
> Does anybody know where it goes?  
> I remember the last time the signs pointed home  
> A month ago”

**Valley View Partial Hospitalization Program: A New Chapter**

Mac sat in a circle full of new faces, shifting in his seat as he felt them all staring at him as he told a story about how one of the worst days of his life. He felt out of place in this new program. Valley View wasn’t Redington, that was for sure. He missed Deb, he missed Cameron and Kendra. He missed the other patients. He even missed Nurse Barbie.

He almost wished he’d done Redington’s PHP, but he’d decided going to a different program would be a healthy challenge. He was probably right, but that didn’t make the transition easy. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to let his fear control him. He’d make the best of his therapy at Valley View.

He didn’t know much about the new group of patients around him, but they were all girls, many barely more than teenagers, which made him feel out of place. He was old and male. Would they even understand what he was going through? Would they think he was silly? Would they think he was a freak? _Yes._ **No one will think that. Calm down. I am doing great. It’s hard, but I’m persevering. That’s a sign of progress and should be celebrated.**

It made him nervous to open up to strangers, especially ones not at all in his demographic, but it wouldn’t help his recovery to hold back. He felt too exposed, but he wasn’t going to hide anymore. To battle his eating disorder, he’d have to face moments that made him feel naked.

He took a deep breath before continuing to speak. “It was awful because my friend Jack had just come home from being abroad for months, and all my problems were kind of dropped in his lap, which he was completely fine with, but at the time, it made me feel like a burden, and a waste of space. I felt awful about it, and with how good he was to me even thought I was making his life hell, I kind of lost it.”

“So, this day came, and I don’t really know why things got so bad, but I was up in weight and feeling like shit, and it felt like everything was going wrong. Plus, the people in my life wanted me to stop, and the pressure to please them compounded with all my other anxieties into this boiling hot stew of feelings. Looking back, I think I was desperate to make those feelings to simply go away, and purging was the best way to do that. At that point, it wasn’t about wanting to eat food and then compensating for it. I was eating food just so I could purge.”

Mac continued, “All day, I couldn’t stop binging and purging. By the end of the day, I’d gone through the cycle nine times, and it was so humiliating because I knew both Jack and my roommate knew what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop myself and neither could they. I lifted my head from the toilet and suddenly, it was dark, and I realized that I’d literally spent the whole day doing something so awful for me. I felt so weak and sick. Jack had to pick me up off the bathroom floor and carry me to bed because I was so wiped out.” Mac chuckled darkly, “He wanted to take me to the hospital, but I wouldn’t let him because I thought I was fine. He stayed up all night monitoring me, and forcing me to sip water, and I know it was really hard on him. But I kept doing it anyway. Jack was always there for me, but I couldn’t be there for him because both of our lives revolved around my eating disorder.”

“That’s why it was one of the worst days of my life because I never felt so needy, selfish, useless, and guilty. I felt like I didn’t deserve how great people in my life were being to me. I felt like I was ruining everyone’s lives, and I still kind of feel that way, even though I know they’d tell me it wasn’t true. I can get over all the things I’ve done to myself, but the hardest part of recovery has been letting go of all the things I did to the people I love.”

When he was done speaking, the room fell silent for a moment too long and Mac wondered if he had said something wrong. _You’ve messed up, you dumb fatty._

 

To his relief, a girl, probably nineteen at most, gave him an understanding smile, “My mom was always so understanding, but then there I was hiding in my bedroom doing insane things.” A blush filled her face. “One time, I was chew/spitting, and then I ate the chewed-up bits and vomited them into a bag, and I thought, ‘Eileen, what would your mom do if she saw you now?’ and it broke my heart when I realized that she’d probably just have hugged me and promised me that together we could make it okay.”

 

Another girl nodded, “Eating disorders can kill relationships. And they sure don’t spare you your dignity.”

 

Mac nodded. He thought, **But recovery can help you get it back.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mac's really sounding a lot better! Good for him. 
> 
> Hello! It's been a while since I've updated anything, but I've had a lot of work this week, so I had to cut back on writing for fun a little. Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this, and if you've read this, I love you. Feel free to leave feedback. Hope to finish this up soon, but I've got other stories I plan on updating soon. Thanks for sticking with this xxx


	47. Snap Out of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If that watch don’t continue to swing
> 
> Or the fat lady fancies having a sing
> 
> I’ll be here, waiting ever so patiently for you to
> 
> Snap out of it”

**The Phoenix Foundation: Coming Home**

Mac had been cleared to start working part-time at the Phoenix foundation. Of course, he wasn’t cleared to go on missions or do much more than mild lab work and research, but his treatment team had thought it was important he try to fit back into his old life gradually.   _Very_ gradually. So, he was allowed to put in hours on Saturdays, and even though it was one day a week, it felt good to be back where he belonged. It felt like things were starting to return to normal after they felt like they would never be normal again. Granted, it was a new normal, but that just meant Mac had a fresh start to make his life what he wanted it to be.

_Why would you ever want normal when you can have extraordinary?_ **I want what makes me happy, nothing more. I want to do what I do best, not to do everything best.**

The minute he stepped into the Phoenix Foundation, he felt the weight of what they did there. They were often the difference between major catastrophe and another day passing without the public being any wiser to the massive amounts of danger that lurked.

He wondered if his therapists knew the true nature of his work if they’d have let him get back to work so soon, but he wasn’t going to complain, and he couldn’t tell them what he really did. Besides, he needed to work. He’d been going a little crazy with only treatment and nothing else to keep him busy. He didn’t want his life to revolve around getting better anymore, and his headspace had cleared enough that he didn’t need for it to be that way. The negative thoughts were still there, but they weren’t him anymore. They were only a part of him, a cruel and deadly part of him.

On his first day back, he’d walked into the office, not expecting anyone to be there. It was a Saturday, because with his treatment schedule Mac could only work weekends, after all, and the team had just gone on a mission to Serbia, and they deserved some time at home to relax. He didn’t hold that against them, even though he’d be a little lonely.

Yet, when he walked in to settle in at his desk, they were all crowded around his desk, having decorated his space with balloons, “Welcome Home” banners, and streamers. Mac was so touched that he felt that he could cry, but of course, he played it cool. “You guys, what are you doing here? It’s a Saturday!” There were always people and members of other teams in the building on Saturday, but their team took off as many as possible.

“We wouldn’t miss your first day back for the world.” Bozer pulled him into a hug, and then everyone, even Desi was hugging him. Well, everyone except James who was hanging out in the back of the group awkwardly. _Look at that, he still hates you. He thinks you’re a dumb moron who can’t even do basic tasks such as eating without puking it all out. He’ll never get over it. He’ll always see you as crazy, but he needs you, crazy or not, so he’ll let you work, but he’ll always give you that disappointed look._

“Yeah,” Matty agreed, “I have a feeling we’ll be working as many Saturdays as we can,” she winked.

“That’s right! I wouldn’t want to miss working with my partner in crime,” Jack added. Desi nodded in agreement, a smile on her face. Mac would have two people watching his back in the field when he came back. They’d needed an extra someone long before Mac had gotten sick, so it was good to have an extra team member.

“It’s just good to have you here.” Riley shot a look at Bozer, “Now, Boze can talk your ear off instead of mine.” She punched Bozer lightly on the shoulder and smiled at Mac. “It’s good to have you here.”

“I’m glad to be back. You know me, get a little stir-crazy without work.” They all nodded, knowing how much Mac needed to keep busy to the point of wearing himself ragged.

“Good to see you son,” His dad finally said, and Mac nodded in response. _He doesn’t care about you. You’re just a burden. He feels obligated to be here._ **What James does or doesn’t do has nothing to do with you,** Mac reminded himself, **At least he’s trying to be supportive.** “We’d have bought you a cake but…” James trailed off, and a part of Mac was embarrassed, but another part was relieved. _Thank god they didn’t. That’s the last thing you need._

“You could have done that. I wouldn’t have minded. You don’t have to stop having fun because of me,” Mac insisted. He didn’t want his eating disorder to change the way they acted around him. He didn’t want them to walk on eggshells on all matters regarding food. That was no life to live.

James looked irritated, “Well, it would have been silly to get a cake in honor of someone who won’t eat it.” _Nor should you be eating that crap. You’re already fat enough. You had to buy new pants to account for all the pounds they packed on you. I don’t know how much you weigh, but I know it’s too much. You’ve gone full pig, Angus. It’s a real shame._ **Wow, he really doesn’t know how to not be an asshole.**

“That isn’t fair. I’m better now, dad.”

“So, you’re telling me cake doesn’t scare you anymore?” James tested. _You should be scared. Very scared._

Jack cut in between them. He gave James a dirty look. “Hey, I know you’re my boss, but do you think you could at least try to understand Mac instead of being a judgmental asshole?” Matty looked like she wanted to clap, but she remained silent.

“Jack, it’s fine. I can handle him.” Mac turned to his father, “My point is that you can’t avoid doing things because they might trigger me. I’m at the point in my recovery when I need to challenge myself with everyday things. I need to be caught off guard and taken out of my bubble of control. Life doesn’t happen within a plan, and I have to learn to exist within the uncertainty.”

James crossed his arms over his chest, “So would have you eaten the cake or not?” _You know how many calories one piece would have. It’s atrocious._ **I know. I can’t forget no matter how much better I am.**

Mac sighed, “No, probably not, but if you give me the chance enough times, one day I’ll probably take it. I’ll learn that cake isn’t something I need to be afraid. I’ll realize that it’s not going to kill me to have one slice. I can’t turn the thoughts in my head off, but I’m trying damn hard to make the good ones louder.”

“I’m proud of you,” Jack said. James stayed quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Winding down with this, and I'm really excited to get this all concluded and let the tentatively happy ending commence! Hope you liked this. Feel free to leave feedback. I hope to get the last few chapters out soon.


	48. Only Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why don’t we invent a new world to explore?  
> Why don’t we create a moment to remember in five years?  
> Winner’s just a word and loser’s just one too  
> Oh, forever dreaming lullaby”

**View Partial Hospitalization Program: Final group session**

Mac couldn’t help but smile as he sat in chair in the circle at his final group session at Valley View. He was being discharged, and his life was coming together nicely. After meeting with Dr. Joss next week, he could be cleared to start returning to the field on a part-time basis with the stipulation that he continue to see Dr. Joss weekly as well as well as an eating disorder group at least once a month. While Dr. Joss didn’t specialize in eating disorders, she’d been taking time to study more about them in preparation for Mac’s return. They’d decided she would be his best choice because of her clearance level, and he could actually talk about his work with her, which would be beneficial when missions and work got hard for Mac to handle.

 With success set up for him, Mac was confidant that he could continue to recover without going back to his old ways. He didn’t want to revert. He wanted to move forward and go back to doing what he did best. “How are you feeling about the end of your treatment, Mac?” the group leader asked.

“I’m feeling great. I’m a little nervous, of course, but my mood is great, and I don’t feel tempted to go back to the coping mechanism I used to have. I know there will be times that I struggle still, but right now, I’m not overly concerned about it.”

“Are you afraid of going back to the real world?” another patient, Mitzi asked. She was still several weeks away from being done with the program, but she had already expressed concern about what would happen once she got back to her job, a major trigger for her.

“A little, but at the same time, I really want to be back in it with all the people I love and living the life I want to live. I don’t want to worry about things that don’t matter and waste so much time on them. I want to be better, and that’s enough for me to feel okay about leaving. I have a great support system, and I’m just taking a chance on all that being enough.”

Aida, a repeat offender rolled her eyes, “That’s what a lot first timers think, but before you know it, you’ll be in and out of treatment for the better part of a decade.”

“That’s not going to be me,” Mac insisted, vowing he would never be back to an inpatient or partial hospitalization. He was going to keep going to therapy, but never would he need it to be his full-time job again. He had a job he loved, and he wanted to spend as much time as possible doing that.

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says, I’m sure.”

“Aida,” the group leader warned, “Let’s keep this a safe environment for people to express their feelings.”

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’m just trying to warn Mr. Optimistic not to get too far ahead of himself.”

“I’ll be fine,” Mac said, and he wasn’t sure whether he was trying to assure her or himself. He knew going back to work and his normal life would be a risk, but he also knew it was one he had to take if he wanted to truly be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go! The next one has Mac meeting Dr. Joss! And then we get the final one! Feel free to leave feedback!


	49. I Wanna Get Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I didn’t know I was broken ‘til I wanted to change  
> (I wanna get better)  
> (better, better, better)”

**Phoenix Psychological: Another appointment with Dr. Joss**

“Good to see you again, Mac,” Dr. Joss began the appointment. “How does it feel to be back at work?”

“Overwhelming,” Mac replied with a small laugh, “But it’s good to be home.”

“Have you been able to keep up with your meal plan?”

Mac shrugged with one shoulder. If he was being honest, he wasn’t doing as well as he could be with keeping up with his meals. He’d been skipping some dinners when he could, which was hard given that all the people around him tried to ensure he ate as often as he needed to. Even so, everyone had busy lives, so it was only natural that some meals would fall between the cracks.

“I’ll take that as you’ve been having some trouble?” Mac nodded. “Why do you think that is?”

“I’m not doing it on purpose, not really, but I’ve been slipping a little,” Mac admitted, “I don’t want to go back to my old or anything like that, but it’s more intentional than just forgetting. I get busy and tell myself that eating can wait, but then, it’s the dinner, and I’ve missed out on lunch.”

“How are you going to address this issue?” Dr. Joss wondered out loud.

“Shouldn’t you tell me what to do?”

She shook her head, “You know how I am. I like you to figure these things out yourself.” She cracked a grin, “Makes my hour easier when you do all the talking.”

Mac chuckled at her joke. “Deb was like that too sometimes. She was a good therapist. She saved my life, I think.”

“I don’t doubt she was a good therapist, but she didn’t save you. She threw you a Swiss Army knife, but you saved your own life, Mac. You took the tools she gave you, and you used them to help yourself instead of hurt yourself. You put the work in, and now you get the reward.”

“It’s hard to believe I did that. I was a mess when I went to Redington, and I thought I was fine. I knew I wasn’t happy but being okay and being happy are separate things. You can survive without being happy, and that’s all I was doing.”

“Yes, and that’s why you continue to struggle now. You’re still fighting the ideas that used to plague you, and you’re still trying to find how to be happy despite the negative thoughts that rage in your head. You can have negative thoughts without letting them impact your overall state of happiness. So, referring back to the struggles you’ve been having lately, what do you think you can do to remedy this issue?”

“I could make more of an effort to eat my meals.

She nodded. “I like that idea. It’s a good start, but are there other things you think you could do to push yourself into sticking to that assertion?”

 **I could reach out.** _Don’t do that, Mac. Don’t even consider it. Keep secrets so that no one can convince you to do anything you don’t want._ He sighed. “I could tell my friends what I’ve been doing. That way, I can’t be tempted into sneaking if they know my tricks. If I keep things transparent, it will be harder for me to fall back into bad habits. The more secrets I kept, the deeper I was into my eating disorder, so I need to avoid doing that now.”

“Secrets are hard to keep.”

“Sometimes, they eat you from the inside out. That’s why I’m glad you have security clearance. Deb was wonderful and all, but I couldn’t tell her about being kidnapped, a giant bomb being put into my house, or a million other things that I realize now would be considered traumatic. It helps to have someone who can know. I think I’ll need that once I’m back at work full time, in the field like I used to be. The old Mac would have been ashamed about needing therapy, but now, I kind of think the whole team should have it.”

“I’m inclined to agree. Agents here can be very resistant to accepting help of any kind, and that attitude sure doesn’t help anyone. Look at you, Mac, you’ve become a model patient! You’ve accepted the value of the work we do here, and by doing that, you can also accept the value of yourself as a person because the truth is that while it may seem selfish to do so, people need to invest a little in themselves so that they can go out in the world and do what they do best.”

“I’m finally starting to see that, and it’s one of the best realizations I’ve ever had. I can’t help anyone if I don’t make sure that I myself am first okay, and it’s a hard thing to remember, but I want to put the work in to keep being okay. I want to get better, and I want to keep getting better because it’s worth doing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHH! This is the second to last chapter!!!! WOOOOOOOW. I'm clearly excited by the idea. Anyway, thank you so much for going on the journey. The last chapter should be up soon. I hope you like how I conclude this! Feel free to leave feedback.


	50. Don't Look Back in Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Slip inside the eye of your mind  
> Don’t you know you might find  
> A better place to play?  
> You said that you’ve never been  
> But all the things that you’ve seen  
> They slowly fade away.”

**Way High in the Sky: Mac and Jack are back, baby!**

Parachuting to the ground with a homemade parachute, Mac landed on the ground with thump, and Jack landed safely beside him on the Phoenix Foundation lawn. Desi had landed first, as graceful and nonchalant as ever.

“Woo!” Jack called, adrenaline pumping through his veins, “That was a close one. Go figure a helicopter stolen from drug runners by another drug runner wouldn’t have parachutes, but you got us out of it buddy. We’re back, baby!”

Beside Jack, Mac was a little green, “I still don’t love heights.”

Desi laughed, punching him in the arm. “Yet, you jumped out of a shitty helicopter with a homemade parachute. Typical MacGyver”

“I trust science, even if I don’t like it,” Mac explained. “And we couldn’t exactly keep hanging out with Theodore,” Theodore had been their kidnapper and the pilot. Jack had talked the guy’s ear off, distracting him enough that Mac could come up with a plan and get them out before Theo could stop them. Theo had been an idiot, so it hadn’t taken much of a plan, but jumping safely from vehicles in the sky was never a breeze.

“What do you think will happen to Ugly Theo?” Desi asked.

Jack grinned, “Oh, don’t worry, Des. He’ll land to the beautiful sight of Ex-fil. Don’t listen to the rumors that they’re a bunch or eyesores. They’re a bunch of hotties, all of them. Ugly Theo won’t get away with nothing. He’s just a little guy in the operation, anyway. The big cheese is already dead.”

“Speaking of big cheese,” Mac said, “I could go for some pizza right about now,” and Jack tried to hide both his surprise and his pleasure at the statement because it had been a long time since Mac had requested such a food. He still struggled to say when he wanted a certain food, preferring to let other people decide. He would eat it if it was given to him, but he still battled the shame of outwardly wanting it.

“I’m in,” Desi said, and Riley and Bozer agreed over comms.

“Sounds good!” Jack clapped Mac’s shoulder, trying to keep things casual, “Come on, then, let’s go home. I’m starving.”

 _You’re not. You could go longer. You’ve gone longer._ “Yeah, me too.”

* * *

 

**Mac’s House: The family’s all around**

The pizza was the gooiest, greasiest one that Mac had ever seen, a big pile of fattening shit. The slices were huge, which made the creation look all the more grotesque. _Frankenstein’s monster is shaking. That thing is hideous. HIDEOUS!_ But Mac was starving, and the team was celebrating their victory, which meant now was no time to be a Debby downer. **It’s just a piece of pizza,** he reminded himself. **There’s nothing wrong with dough, sauce, cheese, and pepperoni. No food is evil. It’s just food. Nourishment.** Yet, he felt guilty just looking at it. _There’s no way you can put that into your body. You’re already fat enough and you keep getting fatter. You’ll be overweight soon enough. Is that really what you want?_

**It’s fine.** _No, it’s not. That’s going to make you fat— 10 pounds of stomach rolls from just one piece or your money back guaranteed._

The team was drinking and laughing around the fire, but Mac felt detached from them, too busy analyzing the pizza to think of anything else. _How many calories of oil do you think are in here?_ He still knew that 1 tsp of oil was 40 calories, meaning a tablespoon was 120 calories. He also knew this pizza was loaded with it. He could feel the oil, wet and slick against his fingers. The feeling alone made him a little sick.  

Calorie counts tallied in his head, but there were too many variables to be sure. He knew that without knowing the exact measurements of ingredients, he could only guess the calories, which still bothered him. Foods he made at home were easier because he could roughly guesstimate what was in them, appeasing the eating disorder voice a little, but takeout and delivery was much more of a battle. _A whole battlefield of the unknown— that’s what’s going to kill you, all those things that sneak up on you._ **Like an eating disorder.** _What you had wasn’t a disorder. You’re just making excuses to keep eating whatever you want._

 **I need to calm down. This isn’t the end of the world. I haven’t eaten in six hours, and not eating will kill me sooner than this one piece of pizza.** _Are you sure about that?_  Without thinking, he dabbed at the slice with his napkin, his anxiety calming a little as he did. He threw off the two little pieces of pepperoni, unable to break his trance. Then, he slid off the cheese, all congealed together in a triangular blob.

He felt an elbow to his side, and looked up to see Bozer shooting him a look that said, “What the fuck are you doing, man?” Mac returned a guilty smile. “You okay?” Bozer asked quietly, not wanting to bring any more attention to the situation than he had to.

“I’m fine,” Mac replied automatically. **Don’t go down this road again. Be better.** “Actually,” he admitted, “Fine might be a bit of a fib. I’m having a hard time, but I’ll be okay.” As if to prove the point, he plopped a piece of pepperoni into his mouth. It grinded against his tongue, feeling like sandpaper against his taste buds. He forced himself to swallow. “I’m just being stupid.”

“You? Stupid?” Jack piped in. “If you were stupid, I’d be dead.” He held up his beer. “If not for your big ol’ brain saving us, my ass would be fried by now.”

“Yeah, well I’m the reason we were in that death trap of a helicopter in the first place.”

Jack shrugged, “You put us there so we could catch the bad guys, and in my book, that’s heroic.”

Desi clinked her beer against Jack’s, “I’ll drink to that.”

“Me too,” Riley added, and before Mac knew it, the whole team was clinking glasses.

Mac gave a quick clink of his glass for the sake of his friends, even though he wasn’t in a celebratory mood, especially when he could have gotten them killed. **Could have but didn’t. Everyone’s okay. I made sure of it. Now, it’s time to make sure that I’m okay. I can’t help anyone if I can’t even help myself.** _That’s so stupid._ **It’s not.**

Focus back on his plate, Mac ripped off the crust from the end of the pizza, putting it aside on his plate.

“You can’t rip that apart forever, Blondie,” Matty reminded him softly. _You wanna bet?_

“I know. I’ll eat it soon,” he said while trying to dissect his cheese, tearing apart shred by shred, pulling the melty pieces away from each other. “I just need some time.”

“I thought you wanted pizza,” Jack commented.

“I did. I _do._ Part of me does.”

Matty sat next to him. “And the other part?”

“Thinks it’s a mistake.”

“Which part is bigger?” Riley wondered aloud.

Mac sighed. “Today, I think it’s the one that thinks pizza is a mistake.”

Matty pondered for a moment before speaking, “Is it bigger or louder? It makes a difference, you know. A thousand quiet people have less power than one screaming one, but if you can get the thousand to speak up, the one doesn’t stand a chance.”

“That’s bad if the one is the good one,” Mac challenged. Though, he understood what Matty was getting at. **She’s right.** _She’s talking shit._ **You’re the only one talking shit.**

Matty was unfazed, unflinching in her gaze. Her words were steady and sure, “I guess that’s a risk you’ll have to take.”

Mac took a bite of the re-shredded cheese, “I guess it is.” He pushed his plate aside, reaching for the box instead. “I think I need to try this again. Start fresh.” and he took a bite without fussing or fighting with himself. He took a bite and just ate pizza the way it was meant to be enjoyed.

* * *

 

**Mac’s House: Late night cravings**

It was 2 am, and Mac had woken up hungry, his stomach growling in need. He tried to ignore it, and go back to sleep, but he couldn’t deny the beast asking to be fed. Fantasies of food danced in his head until he gave in, dragging his tired body to the kitchen. He opened the kitchen door and the yellow glow flooded the room, sending his mind back to the hundreds of times he’d been in the same position. There were times when he’d stand in front of the fridge, stuffing himself with everything edible. He’d eat until he was full and keep eating until after that when he was so full that he felt he might explode. Then, he’d switch the yellow light of the fridge for the blinding white light of the bathroom vanity. The toilet would be illuminated, haloed by rings of light, and he had fooled himself into thinking, somehow, that this porcelain thing would be his savior.

Mac closed the fridge door. _I can’t do this. I can’t risk what I might do._ **Have a snack, and then you can go back to bed.** _Leave before you fall back into the trap._ **The trap is not giving your body what it asks for. Give your body what it needs, and it won’t want to take anymore.** Mac opened the fridge again and scanned the options. **Should I have some yogurt? Some grapes? Lunchmeat? Leftover rice? Leftover pizza?** _Why can’t you just sleep through the hunger and deal with it when you’re less tired._

Choosing some grapes, Mac closed the fridge once more and began popping them into his mouth. Before he knew it, he was shoveling them in, opening the fridge again, and getting out all the food he had rejected before. Before he knew it, he’d consumed what he estimated to be 3000 (really 2890) calories worth of food. His stomach felt full and stretch, and his mind was spinning with guilt. _How could you have let this happen? You haven’t binged like this in forever. How could you do such a thing to your body? Better go puke it up. There’s no other option._ Mac couldn’t stand it. He needed the food out, to erase what he had just done. _Yes, good job. That’s it. Listen to me._ He went to the bathroom, letting the stark white glow fill the room. It took his eyes a minute to adjust, but when they did, his objective was clear.

He pulled off his shirt, throwing it to the floor, and opened the toilet lid, hunching his body over it. He squeezed his pointer and middle fingers together, thumb pointed outward like a finger gun, readying them for the task they would face. He began to pull the trigger, slipping his fingers into his mouth, but then, he stopped. **I don’t need to do this. I don’t need to pull the trigger. I don’t need to be perfect. I don’t need hurt myself. I don’t need to feel guilty. I don’t need to hate myself. I don’t need to feel awful.**  He took his fingers out of his mouth and unloaded the gun. He wiped the saliva from his fingers and brushed his teeth. He went to bed, and as he drifted off to sleep, he told himself: **I deserve to be happy, and not just to pretend I’m happy. I want happiness,** and he wanted to truly feel it, not just fake it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S IT FOLKS!! THAT'S ALL THERE IS! Thank you so much for going along for this ride. I'm so happy for all of you who have read this. This was the first fanfiction I've ever started and posted on here, and while I have finished some others on here, this will always have a special place in my heart, which is why I can't help but have a sequel (can I write something without a sequel? Not sure I can). You've all been so wonderful, and I love you all for being so great. Anyways, I think that's all. I've been sentimental enough ;) Feel free to leave a comment and let me know if you liked how I wrapped this up! See you later hopefully xxx

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this. Feel free to leave any comments. I'm always looking for some inspiration and feedback.


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